


Annika

by DontJudgeMeIShipIt



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-05-27 08:38:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 116,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15020825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontJudgeMeIShipIt/pseuds/DontJudgeMeIShipIt
Summary: Three years after Tessa Virtue disappears off the face of the Earth, Joe Moir makes a shocking discovery, one his son had better have a very good answer for.*Annika is pronounced Awn-uh-kuh, like Hanukkah





	1. ONE

+++

 

 

 

Joe Moir is in a hurry.  He has exactly two hours to pick up this order for the shop and get back to Ilderton before he’s late for dinner.  Alma is a forgiving woman, but she hates it when he’s late for dinner on Family Night. Tonight is such a night, and all three of their boys will be there for dinner--Charlie and Danny with their families in tow, and Scott.  He sighs, imagining his youngest, sitting silently at the table, a ghost of the happy kid he used to be.

 

He supposes he should just be happy his son manages to show up these days.  For awhile there, they couldn’t even get him to get out of bed when he was sober, and when he wasn’t...well, that was a whole other story.  He’d struggled after Sochi, had been struggling for at least a solid year before Tessa...before whatever happened between the two of them. Then she’d pulled up stakes and disappeared, and after that he’d just...bottomed out.  They’d been terrified as a family that they were gonna lose him, but he’d slowly struggled back to himself over the last few years, or at least to some semblance of himself, anyway. He still lacked that spark that’d made him so fun to be around, so easy to love.  Obviously, the Moirs loved him, still. They were an unusually close lot, but the friends and fans had slowly dried up, partly due to lack of his formerly boisterous, happy-go-lucky personality, and partly due to the fact that he mostly kept to himself these days, preferring to keep his head down and work at the shop.  He coaches privately, part-time; an ice-dance pair that he sees something special in. Joe thinks his friends, Marie and Patrice, two of the _very_ few who remain in his life, helped facilitate the coaching gig.  Thank God for that, because those kids are just about the only thing he’s seen his son smile about in the past three years.  He sighs, heavily.

 

Alma’s gonna kill him if he’s late.  What is taking so long with his order, anyway?  Usually there’s someone waiting right here in the front to greet him and hand off his order and he’s out the door.  It’s unusual for there to be any kind of wait. There’s no bell or anything to ring though. He sticks his head around the first aisle, but no one is there, just rows and rows of fabric as far as the eye can see.  He makes his way over another aisle, then two. No one down that one either except a shopper holding several bolts of fabric, the top one tilting precariously as she reaches for yet another skein of fabric.

 

There’s something familiar about her, he thinks, but just as he’s shrugging to himself and getting ready to move on in search of a warehouse employee, the bolt of fabric that’s been sitting crookedly on top of all the others slips off the stack and hits the floor with a muffled thump.

 

Joe takes a step toward her, intending to retrieve it for her, but stops in his tracks when he hears her swear.

 

“Shit,” she mutters.  Then, shifting a cell phone he hadn’t realized she was on to her other ear and reaching down to grab the wayward fabric, she continues, “No, I just dropped some fabric.  Yeah, it’s fine. Yeah, just come on over. I’ll see you in a minute.” She blows air through her nose in an annoyed sigh and stands up in a huff.

 

It’s only when she turns back to the shelf in front of her that she catches sight of him in her peripheral vision, startling and uttering a surprised, “Oh!”

 

As he watches her face, he sees the surprise fade away, only to be replaced by a look that must mirror his own nearly perfectly, one that’s a perfect blend of recognition and shock.

 

“Tessa?” he says, tentatively, his brain almost incapable of comprehending her sudden presence _here_ , in a fabric warehouse in downtown Toronto.  After all this time.

 

“Joe,” she whispers, and his throat aches a little at the soft way she says his name.  Like she’s missed him, maybe. He thinks of Scott, and feels a little anger rise up on his son’s behalf, but he’s done a lot of thinking about what must’ve happened between the two of them to send her running so far, so fast, all those years ago, to make her give up her whole life just to put some distance between them.  It must have been bad. He’s known Tessa for practically her entire life. She’d been a sweet kid, without a hateful bone in her body, and he’d come to accept some time ago that whatever happened, she had her reasons for leaving like she did.

 

“What are you,” she croaks, stopping to clear her throat halfway through, before trying again.  “What’re you doing here?”

 

“I’m picking up a shipment of laces for the skate shop.  I can’t believe--I mean, Tessa, where in the world have you _been_?”  If he didn’t know her so well, he mightn’t have even recognized her, honestly.  Her hair is back to its natural chestnut brown, and it’s pulled back in a soft, messy braid of some sort.  She’s wearing glasses with a stylish black frame, and her face is free of any trace of make-up, her freckles standing out against her pale skin like they did when she was a kid.  Her eyes are the same though, wide and green, and she’s still petite, just a slip of a thing.

 

He finds himself moving forward on auto-pilot to take the bolts of fabric from her arms, but the look on her face stops him.  She’s staring past him, and he realizes suddenly that there are footsteps approaching from behind him.

 

“I’m sorry, Ms. McCormick,” he hears from somewhere over his shoulder.  “I tried to keep her entertained, but she insisted.”

 

“It’s okay, Ava.  Thank you for watching her.  I’ve pretty much finished up, anyway,” she says, her eyes flicking uncomfortably in his direction before moving back over his shoulder once more.  He thinks she looks more pale than she did only a moment ago. “If you want to just take these up front, I’ll take her,” she smiles, tightly, passing the bolts of fabric past his shoulder just as a woman in a company-provided vest appears at his side to accept them.  

 

He watches Tessa reach out a hand, and for a moment his view of what she’s reaching for is blocked by the stack of brightly colored fabric, but then... _oh_.  Not a what, a who.  A very small, very adorable person.  A little girl, in fact. Maybe two or three years old, a toddler, really.  She’s wearing a pale pink smock-type dress over dark tights and the tiniest ballet slippers he thinks he’s ever seen.  A wide stretchy headband, the same pale pink color as her dress, adorns her head and contains the fly-aways that escape her whispy pigtails.  

 

As Tessa swings the small girl up onto her hip, two facts hit him at the exact same moment.  Number one: Tessa is a mom. The child is the spitting image of her, a tiny carbon copy, except for those eyes.  And, number two: those eyes.

 

Those are Alma’s eyes.  

 

Scott’s eyes.

 

He blinks at Tessa, confused.  Hurt already settling into his chest.  Anger curling just around the edges. “Tessa,” he breathes, and he’s not sure if there’s accusation there in his inflection or not, but he can’t help it if there is because he’s barely forming words at the moment.  “Is this--is she…?”

 

“Annika.  Her name is Annika,” Tessa says, before he can get a full sentence out of his mouth, and as he watches, her chin lifts just slightly.  “She’s my daughter.” And he thinks maybe there’s a slight emphasis on the _my_.

 

He says nothing for several beats, in shock, he guesses.

 

She moves past him and heads for the front of the store as if to leave, freezing in her tracks when his words reach her ears.

 

“Tess, you have to tell him.  It’s not fair, he deserves--”

 

“He knows,” she states, dully, her shoulders falling the slightest bit.

 

“What?” he whispers, disbelief coloring his words.  

 

She turns back to face him then, and there are tears shining in her eyes when she whispers, “I said, he _knows_.”

 

The fierceness in her words and the pain in her eyes cause him to fall silent.  There’s nothing he can think to say in reply to that, and so he just watches her walk out the door, taking his granddaughter with her.  All the while the child watches him over her mother’s shoulder with wide, familiar hazel-brown eyes.

 

They disappear around the corner, and after a second he hears the bell on the front door jingle as she leaves the warehouse.  

 

She didn’t even stop to get her fabric.


	2. TWO

++++

 

 

Tessa blinks her eyes against the tears that have gathered there, willing herself to get it together before she completely loses it in the parking lot of JJ’s Fabric Emporium.  Running into Scott’s father had been the furthest thing from her mind today, the absolute  _ furthest _ , which is funny because for weeks now, since returning to Canada, she’s been paranoid about running into someone she knows on the crowded streets of Toronto or even just being recognized by a fan or member of the media.  Today, however, she’d been distracted because this was the beginning of her first full week completely on her own. Her mom and Jordan had officially settled back into their lives here at home, no longer feeling the need to take turns hovering, protectively, over her and her child.  God knows they deserve to move on with their lives. They’d both dropped everything to be with her for the last few years, helping in any way that they could to make her life a little easier, but now that they’re resuming their own lives, she’s feeling a little nervous to be left standing completely on her own two feet without their day-to-day support.  So, with that, plus the demands of a fledgling business and a rambunctious, albeit sweet-natured, toddler to contend with, her mind had been anything but prepared for running into Joe Moir.

 

And now he’ll tell Scott that she’s here, in Toronto, and she doesn’t know what that means, if anything, for her, for Annika.  It probably doesn’t mean anything at all, and that’s the part that hurts the most, she thinks. It was obvious Scott hadn’t told his family about their daughter, and that really stings in a way that she absolutely  _ hates _ herself for.  After all this time, after what he did, she can’t believe his actions still have the power to hurt her.  

 

She’s done absolutely everything humanly possible to move on, but so much of her life feels like one step forward and two steps back.

 

She goes by Tessa McCormick these days.  Dropping ‘Virtue’ made a simple Google search slightly less effective, and while she isn’t in hiding per se, she doesn’t especially want to be found either.  Having Scott’s baby under any circumstances would’ve been complicated given their public personas, but especially given the actual circumstances, she just can’t bear to have her life splashed about the tabloids.  So, three years ago, she’d made a decision to simply step away from her old life. She’d been exactly twelve weeks’ pregnant the day she flew to New York for a fresh start. So, on the day she should have been “safe” to announce to all of her friends and family that she was going to be a mom, she was instead bidding them a silent farewell from thirty-five thousand feet above sea level.  

 

She had a single carry on with her, all of her things having already been shipped ahead to the tiny apartment she’d leased in Brooklyn.  Stoically, she’d sat in a middle seat, her mom on one side and Jordan on the other, one or both of them holding her hands off and on the entire way, until they’d touched down on US soil.  New York City wasn’t so far from home, she’d told herself, but it was the kind of city you went to for one extreme or the other--to stand out, or to blend in. 

 

She’d had her fill of the former and was in desperate need of the latter.

 

She wears glasses now, which she likes but doesn’t actually  _ need _ , and if they allow her to hide just a little bit in plain sight, so be it.  In three years, she’d only been recognized twice, and both times she’d been alone and in full hair and make-up for a business function.  She’d smiled her best press conference smile, nearly forgetting what that felt like after her long hiatus from that life, and she’d signed a quick autograph and disappeared back into a sea of busy New Yorkers, the world at large none the wiser.

 

It’s crazy how fast people forget you, how quickly they move on with their lives, find new things and people to be passionate about.  Out of sight, out of mind, she guesses, and she isn’t sure if she’s thinking about the world at large anymore or one very specific, Canadian ice-dancer, but she supposes the truth holds, either way.  In any case, she doesn’t really want to face either ever again, so she does her best to mitigate the circumstances that might make such an occurrence likely. She feels like she’s been pretty lucky so far, and she rarely tempts fate by going  _ out _ out unless it’s truly necessary for work.  In her day to day life, she pretty much manages to blend in.

 

Since she finished her MBA, almost completely online, she’s started her own label.  It’s still in the early stages, and without using the clout of her full name, the start-up has been a slow process, but, from a design perspective, she’s enjoying the creative freedom of being her own boss.  Thankfully, she still has some revenue coming in from past endorsement deals and smart investments (thank you Mom and Dad), and that moderate income has allowed her the chance to get this new endeavor off the ground.  She’s giving it everything she has, devoting herself to it with every bit as much drive and tenacity as she’d put into skating for all those years. 

 

She likes to think she’s managed to keep traces of her old self intact, but she knows it was imperative to her mental well-being that she enact some change, to her physical self at least.  If for no other reason than for peace of mind when she ventured out the front door. She’d needed the security that the anonymity of a new appearance provided. So, she’s also traded in her messy ponytails and buns for a soft, messy french braid, instead.  It’s different from her old look, still casual, but slightly more mature. It functions for work but it’s still simple enough for the hectic reality of mom-life as well. She’s also stopped darkening her hair. She couldn’t dye it while she was pregnant and then, honestly, she just hadn’t had the time or inclination to keep up with it.  Now she’s gotten used to her natural color again, and truth be told, she loves sharing the same chestnut shade as her daughter.

 

Annika.  Her sweet little girl.  The absolute love of her life.

 

Her heart gives a little twist at the title, because thinking about the former title-holder still causes her heart to break just a little, even after three solid years, five hundred miles, and a betrayal so soul-crushing she hadn’t thought she’d survive it.

 

Thinking back on it now, she’s still not entirely sure how she did.

 

Scott had been a mess after Sochi.  They’d all seen it. Part of that had been her fault, she knows, but a larger portion of the blame rested solely on his own shoulders.  She’d been unsure about them, about what, if any, relationship they might be able to sustain outside of skating. Retirement had loomed in front of them, large and scary.  They had both been young and impetuous, and they’d acted accordingly. 

 

She’d been sick one weekend, and though they were both struggling separately, as her best friend, he’d still shown up to take care of her.  As her forty-eight hour bug dwindled down to a restless night of fitful sleep and fever-fueled dreams, she’d woken from a nightmare, drenched in sweat and bawling.  Her fever had finally broken, but in her nightmare she’d seen Scott die. It was the thing that terrified her the most in those days, that she’d get a call from one of his brothers that he’d gotten into a fight at the bar and some guy had pulled a knife or that he’d gotten it into his head that he was okay to drive when he had no business being behind the wheel.  In her nightmares, the outcome was always the same.

 

She was sure she’d been a mess when he came into her room.  She’d been crying and wet and shivering. Somehow, despite all that, amidst the tears and the whispered words of comfort and the need to get out of sweat-soaked clothes, they’d managed to make a baby that night.  She tries hard not to remember the details, these days. She knows that in the harsh light of morning though, she’d panicked.

 

After that, he hadn’t taken her calls for weeks.  When she knocked on his door, he wouldn’t let her in.  He had refused all contact. Possibly because of the way she’d reacted to what happened between them, but honestly it had all been so completely unexpected, she’d just been running scared in the aftermath.  She still doesn’t feel like her reaction deserved the level of punishment she’d received.

 

For awhile, there was just an odd, unhealthy stasis between them.  He continued to drink too much, trying to cope with the precarious state of his life, hanging out in questionable bars with even more questionable people, making  _ more _ than questionable choices, and she’d fallen apart, quietly, trying to be ‘Tessa Virtue’ when she had no idea  _ how _ to be Tessa without Scott.  

 

Not knowing how to be your own person is a terrifying feeling.  She supposes, looking back, that Scott had been feeling a little bit of that, too.  So, they’d both been in a terrible place to make any kind of major life decisions when the absolute biggest life choice they’d ever been presented with had been plopped unceremoniously into their laps.  

 

Only for her, it’d never really been a choice at all. 

 

By the time she’d started to suspect she might be pregnant, it’d been a solid three weeks since she’d last attempted to call him.  

 

In a fit of desperation she’d texted him, simply:  _ Scott, I’m late… _

 

And...nothing.

 

She’d been scared to take the test alone.  She was a grown woman, but as stupid as it seemed, she’d wanted her best friend there with her, despite the way they’d left things between them, despite the wreck his life seemed to be at the moment, she’d wanted him to be there for this thing that was so potentially life-altering.

 

Three hours, two positive tests, and no word from Scott later, she was just tugging on her runners and reaching for her keys, preparing to head over to his parents’ house to see if they knew where she could find him when her phone binged.

 

The text that awaited her upended her life in a way she’d never seen coming, not in a million years.

 

_ The last thing I need in my life right now is a kid, Tessa. _

 

She’d sat down heavily on the couch, one shoe on, one off, the toes of her socked foot curling painfully into the rug below her feet, her keys dropping to the carpet with a muffled metallic jangle.  She’d thumbed through her phone numbly and hit ‘call’ when she reached his name. Her gut had churned nauseatingly when the call was sent straight to voicemail.

 

_ I took a test.  It’s positive. _  She’d fired off the the text in anger, to spite him, because he  _ had _ to know this.  He would, dammit.  She would not be in this alone, no matter how big of a shit show his life may be at the moment.  

 

His next reply caused her blood to run cold in her veins, though.

 

Her phone binged almost immediately, and she looked down, her breath catching in her throat and hot tears filling her eyes.

 

_ Then take care of it. _

 

Her stomach heaved in response to his callous words, and she raced for the bathroom, her knees hitting the cold tile hard enough to leave bruises.  When her stomach was empty, she sat there in the bathroom floor, her back against the wall, replaying his words over and over. She’s not sure how long she sat there, one shoe on, one off, hair hanging limply around her shoulders, but thinking back on it now, she realizes that it was a long time, and that she was probably in shock, the true clinical kind, if the uncontrollable chattering of her teeth was any indication.

 

Eventually, she’d managed to pull herself up off of the floor and make her way back to the living room.  She’d sunk down onto the plush couch and pulled the soft chenille throw over herself. It wasn’t until the next day that she’d gathered herself enough to realize that she needed to speak to him face to face.

 

Unfortunately, that hadn’t gone much better.

++++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still with me? Please don't hate Scott TOO much. I know I'm painting him as the villain here, but there is more to the story than what we've seen so far, k? I like the real Scott too much to write a douche-y version of him, so please extend a little trust here.
> 
> Also, Tessa and Scott are such pretty, likable, ship-able people I'm just dressing up the dolly versions and playing pretend. In no way do I think (or hope) this happened or will happen. I wish them a much less complicated life than this nutty journey I'm sending their likenesses on. Although, maybe I wish them an Annika bc in my head she's pretty dang cute! :P


	3. THREE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a little something from Scott's perspective.

++++

 

“SCOTT!” he hears his father bellow his name and turns toward the sound automatically.

 

“In here, Dad,” he calls, confused.  “The kitchen,” he adds, to clarify, as he hears his Dad’s footsteps reach the end of the hall and pause.

 

“We need to talk, son.  Now!” his father states, firmly, as he enters the kitchen and moves directly past Scott and over to the large rectangular table at the far end of the room.  He pulls out a chair, but rather than sit in it, he gestures that Scott should take a seat. 

 

Scott’s eyes snap to his father’s face, his hands stilling on the half peeled potato balanced precariously between his wet fingers.  Then his eyes flick toward his mom where she stands in front of the stove, stirring a large pot of homemade gnocchi. She shrugs, seemingly unsure of what to make of his father’s uncharacteristically peeved tone.

 

Scott drops the potato into the metal strainer in the sink, stabs the paring knife he’d been wielding into the half-peeled vegetable, and moves over to the table.  He sits in the chair his father had indicated. He doesn’t know what this is about, and while he doesn’t appreciate being treated like a child, this behavior is so far outside of the norm for his dad that he’s loathe to question him until he figures out what exactly is going on.

 

“Dad, what’s--” he starts, but is immediately cut off.

 

“How long have you known you have a daughter?” his father asks, his voice shaking with emotion.  Scott can hear it all, boiling just underneath the surface, anger and hurt and accusation. He also hears a dish clatter to the floor and break somewhere behind him.  He can’t be bothered to turn his head to check how bad the damage is though, because the damage here in front of him looks pretty spectacular. 

 

“What?!” he gasps, his eyes never leaving his Dad’s face.  “Dad, I don’t know...what you’re…” He can’t even finish the sentence, he’s so taken aback by his father’s unexpected words.

 

“I ran into Tessa today.  At JJ’s, in Toronto.” He leaves that there like it should mean something to Scott  _ other _ than the fact that he ran into Tessa when, to his knowledge,  _ no one _ has seen her in three years.  He takes a moment to take in this piece of information.  His brain latches onto it, temporarily pushing aside his father’s initial accusation.

 

_ Tessa. _

 

His eyes drop into his lap.  He stares at his hands, scarred and calloused from days spent working at the shop, from years before that spent catching the sharp edge of her blade when he wasn’t paying attention...or when he was, and he’d caught the blade rather than watch his partner hit the ice.

 

Tessa.

 

He’d screwed things up with her to a degree that none of them realized, but just by her continued absence from his life, all of their lives, he knows they have  _ some _ idea of just how collosal his fuck up must’ve been.  He’d hurt her. He knows that. He’d been hurting, too, but he’d never guessed in a million years she’d just up and disappear like she had.  He never even got the chance to apologize, to explain the things he’d said to her.

 

Tessa’s in Toronto.  Maybe he could--

 

“She has a little girl.”

 

Scott’s head shoots up to meet his father’s eyes.  He hears a gasp somewhere behind him, his mom already making a connection it’s gonna take Scott a few seconds longer to make.  

 

“Tessa has a kid?” he whispers, shock clear in his voice, even to his own ears.

 

“You didn’t know?” his father asks, skeptically, though his eyes seem to shine with something like relief.

 

“T’s a mom?” Scott breathes, trying to reign in the dawning sense of loss he feels at this news.  He’d known she was out there somewhere, living her life, and he knows, logically, that means that she could be married by now, but somehow he’s always managed to convince himself that...what?  That’d they’d get another shot? She’d  _ disappeared _ three years ago when he’d shut her out, and yet somehow, in his deepest, most private thoughts...he’d still hoped for a second chance, hadn’t he?  It’s a strange little realization to have in the middle of an even stranger conversation.

 

“Scott--” his Dad starts, and there’s still an edge of disbelief in his voice that pisses Scott off to an unreasonable degree.

 

“No!  Dad, I didn’t know!  I haven’t talked to Tess in three years!  You know that!” he erupts. 

 

“Son, that little girl looks...I asked Tessa, and she said you knew…”  

 

And  _ now _ he’s getting the implication here.  

 

“Dad, I DON’T have a daughter.  If Tessa has a kid…” As painful as it is to think about her having a child with someone else, the idea of Tessa having  _ his _ kid somewhere out there and not telling him about it is somehow a million times worse.  “She’s not mine,” he finishes, his voice going suddenly quiet, the fight leaving him just as quickly as it’d risen inside of him.  Those words hurt coming out because for just a second he imagines a world where he hadn’t been a complete head case when he and Tessa had sex for the first time, where she hadn’t panicked in the aftermath, and he hadn’t pushed her away--in that world, he could see a little girl that looked a lot like Tessa and a little like him.  His heart beats painfully in his chest.

 

He watches his father’s eyes squint at him, trying to judge if he’d lie about something this huge, he guesses, which he wouldn’t under any circumstances.  He would never in a million years deny his child, Tessa’s child. “She’s not mine,” he whispers, and the words are even more painful coming out the second time.  “She couldn’t be...she can’t be.”

 

“Scott, are you telling me that you never had sex with Tessa?” his Dad asks, his voice dripping with obvious disbelief at this point.  “That that had  _ nothing _ to do with what happened between the two of you?  It had nothing to do with why she left?”

 

Here, he pauses.  Because that  _ would _ be a lie.  It was just that one time though and then everything went to hell and she...he swallows,  _ hard _ , and the sound is audible.   _ Oh, no... _

 

He sees his mother sit down heavily in the chair to his right.  He feels her take his hand in hers, but he can’t focus on her right now because his mind has turned inward, flashing back to the last time he’d seen Tessa Virtue.

 

She’d shown up on the doorstep of his apartment, in black tights and an oversized t-shirt, looking tired and unhappy.  He’d been having a shitty day already, and he would have ignored her, as he’d been doing for the past few weeks since she’d left him alone in her bed following their unexpected night together, if it wasn’t so completely obvious that she’d been crying.  Through the peephole, he could see that the skin around her eyes was red and puffy, the green of her irises made more vibrant by the fresh wash of tears. Her skin had looked more pale than usual, and he’d realized that he couldn’t hide from her like a coward anymore.  It wasn’t fair to either of them. This thing between them was just too big, as much as he’d wanted to be with her, it was wrecking everything, and he needed to just man up and tell her that, so that maybe, someday, in the far, far distant future, they could manage to be friends again.

 

He’d opened the door, planning to have the difficult, yet necessary, conversation that he knew they needed to have.  It ended up being a much shorter conversation than he’d anticipated though.

 

As soon as the door swung open, she’d started talking.

 

_ “I need to hear you say it.  That you...that you don’t want us.” _  Her voice had broken a little at the end, but she’d managed to get the words out, and then she’d stood there looking him directly in the eye with a mixture of grief and disbelief plainly visible on her pale face, waiting.

 

Thinking back now he can picture it as clear as day, how she’d stood there, visibly shaking, in her faded Hall and Oats t-shirt and her brand new Adidas runners, her arms wrapped tightly across her abdomen.  He’d interpreted her body language as her curling into herself, protecting herself, but suddenly new light dawns on the moment, harsh and glaring. The placement of her arms takes on a new significance. Her utter devastation stands out clearly in the spotlight of clarity and it’s like he’s hearing her words for the first time.

 

... _ you don’t want us. _

 

_ Us. _

 

_ Not _ Tessa and Scott, as he’d believed.

 

Tessa and…

 

Shit.

 

Fucking  _ SHIT _ !

 

And then his next words to her rocket back at him, hitting him directly in the solar plexus, nearly doubling him over where he currently sits at his parents’ kitchen table.

 

_ “Tess, I can’t.  I’m not ready for this.” _

 

But he’d meant  _ them _ , the utter hugeness of Tessa and Scott, not...not...oh, God, what had he done?  How had this happened?

 

He tries to remember exactly what his next words to her had been but he’d been angry and sad and confused and fucking hung over, and all of those things had rendered him unable to form coherent sentences.  He knows he’d managed something about his life being a complete mess and the fact that they’d tried and they just didn’t work, and that _obviously_ she wasn’t ready for this either.  He also knows he hadn’t managed to say much of anything _to_ _her_ at all because most of his words had been spoken to her back, as she’d slowly walked away from him.  He’d watched her retreating form grow smaller until she reached her car and slipped inside without a word.  

 

She’d never once looked back at him, but he remembers watching her face as she’d reversed out of her parking space, her expression strangely blank.  He hadn’t missed the steady stream of tears slipping down her cheeks, though. That image is the last he has of her, and it’s the one that’s haunted his dreams for the past three years.

 

When she’d disappeared, it’d happened quickly.  She’d written a goodbye of sorts for her social media accounts, stating that she was going to take some time for herself, finish her MBA, and then pursue a career outside of skating.  She wrote how grateful she was to all of the fans for all of their support over the years, and how much she would always treasure this portion of her life. She did not mention Scott Moir one time, and exactly one week later, she deactivated all of her social media accounts.  With no online presence and no scheduled appearances, it had been easy enough for her to simply disappear from the world. 

 

By the time Scott caught wind and became concerned enough to track her down in person, her phone was disconnected and her apartment was empty, but it wasn’t until he’d made his way to her Mom’s place in London and found a “for sale” sign out front and a coded lock box on the doorknob, obviously placed there by a realty company, that true terror had seized his heart.  

 

“Mom, have you heard from Kate?” he’d asked his mother in a panic, the glass doors of the rink in Ilderton barely banging closed behind him as he’d gripped her upper arms, his eyes searching hers, desperately.

 

“No.  Scott what’s this about?” she’d asked, frowning as she’d fumbled for her phone, calling Kate without taking her worried eyes off of her distraught son.  

 

When her brow had furrowed and she’d pulled the phone away from her ear, eyeing it confusedly, as a distinct tone played in the air between them, his heart had sunk.  Disconnected. 

 

He’d called everyone he knew that might have Tessa’s new number, but no one did.

 

He’d called Jordan multiple times.  She’d only answered once.

 

“Fuck you, Scott,” she’d said, tightly, before hanging up.  

 

He’d stared at the phone in shock for several seconds, not sure if he was more shocked by her words or by the fact that she’d answered at all.  He’d called her back right away, and then again and again, until eventually her number was disconnected as well, and then he just...hadn’t known what else to do, who else to call.  No one knew where The Virtues had gone. Tessa obviously didn’t want to see him or talk to him, and she’d gone to great lengths to establish that separation from him. In the end, he couldn’t blame her, he’d done this to himself.  He’d done this to them.

 

He’d thought she might eventually forgive him, or at the very least come find him to give him a piece of her mind or to have it out with him once and for all.  He’d clung to that hope for a solid two years, but eventually he’d realized that Tessa was gone, and she was not coming back.

 

Something warm and wet hits the back of his hand where it rests against the scarred wood of his parents’ dining room table.

 

“Oh, Scotty,” he hears his mom whisper, and he looks up just in time to see the first tear slip down her cheek.  It takes him a second to realize that his own eyes have filled. He doesn’t understand how this happened. Tessa had come to him like they’d already spoken about her pregnancy and he  _ knows _ they hadn’t.  Despite the fact that he’d been living his life in a drunken haze that entire year, he’s positive  _ that _ conversation would’ve sobered him right up, just like her leaving had done in the end.

 

“Son, that baby has your mama’s eyes, your eyes,” his Dad says, softly, treading carefully now in light of his son’s emotional response to what has obviously been an unexpected revelation to him.  “I’d have recognized her anywhere. I swear, I would have known she was yours and Tessa’s if I’d seen her with a complete stranger in the middle of West Toronto.” His Dad shakes his head, finally seeming to accept the fact that Scott’s telling the truth, that he really had no idea about any of this.  “I don’t know what happened between the two of you back then, but I  _ know _ that you have a daughter somewhere in Toronto who’s mother is under the mistaken impression that you knew about her existence.  I’d like to think I know Tessa pretty well after all the years she spent in and around this house.” He nods his head, sure of the truth of his own words, and then shakes it before saying, “She wasn’t lying, Scott.  She believed what she said.”

 

“I just don’t know how this could’ve happened,” Scott says, helplessly.

 

“I think I might know,” Danny says from the doorway, and three heads turn in unison to face him.  He seems slightly embarrassed to have been caught eavesdropping on such a personal and obviously emotional conversation, but if he has any insight here, Scott will take it.  As he moves forward into the room, he waves a hand in the general direction of the living room. “Charlie took everyone else outside to play until dinner’s ready. We thought you might need a little time, given...everything.”  Three heads nods their agreement and three sets of eyes remain trained on him, unmoving, waiting.

 

“Dan?” Scott questions.  

 

“Scotty, do you remember that girl you met at the bar in Kitchener a couple of months before Tessa left?  The one you and I fought about?”

 

“Yeah,” Scott replies, “I remember.”  He remembers her, alright. What a nightmare.  He hadn’t been making stellar choices in his life at that point, and his dating life had been no exception.  He’d found out after a couple of months of seeing the woman in question that she’d discovered a fun little trick.  When he was passed out drunk, she would use his finger to unlock his phone and intercept texts and voicemails from other girls, deleting them before he ever even saw them.  He wasn’t even seeing anyone else, really, so he wasn’t sure why she’d felt so threatened, although he hadn’t been opposed to giving out his number to the occasional interested party.  Anyway, he would have never even known she was doing it, except that she intercepted a text from Tessa, Danny’s Tessa, and replied to it before deleting the conversation from his phone.  She’d been quite nasty to her, and Danny had shown up on his doorstep bright and early the next morning, livid, shoving Tessa’s cell phone under his nose and demanding answers. 

 

Based on the timestamp on the text message, Scott had realized immediately that his latest on-again-off-again girlfriend was the only other person with access to his phone during the time in question.  When confronted with the evidence, the woman, Lisa, he thinks her name was, admitted to what she’d done, claiming to have only been trying to protect their relationship, to which Scott had replied that there was no relationship.  She’d left that morning, at Scott’s insistence, and he honestly hadn’t thought of her since. The confrontation with  _ his _ Tessa had happened later that same day, and the fallout had consumed his every waking moment in the time that followed.

 

“But Scotty, do you remember  _ what _ she said to Tess?” Danny asked, dipping his chin and lifting his eyebrows, encouraging him to  _ think about it. _

 

Scott thinks back and feels himself pale when the exact words from that fateful text message drift back to him.

 

_ “I don’t want anything to do with you or your baby.” _

 

Tessa Two had been very pregnant at the time and devastated by the text she’d received from “Scott” the night before.  It was only at this very moment that he realized he’d never asked Lisa, or whatever her name was, if she’d said anything  _ else _ .  She’d admitted to deleting messages, but he’d been thinking more along the lines of girls he gave his number to in bars, not his family, not  _ Tessa _ .  He wonders now with a sickening sense of dread what awful things she might have said to Tessa if she’d texted him about her pregnancy.  Surely, Tessa would have talked to him about that though. She wouldn’t have sent him a text...

 

“But Tessa wouldn’t have text me,” he says now, voicing his doubt.  “Not about something as important as--” he begins, shaking his head, before Danny cuts him off.

 

“Scott, you wouldn’t take her calls.  You wouldn’t  _ see _ her, wouldn’t even answer the door when she came to your apartment,” he reminds his younger brother.  “You told me that. Hell,  _ she _ told me that, and I told her to give you fucking time.  If she was pregnant and trying to tell you...” His brother blows out a frustrated breath,” I could kill myself for those words right about now.”

 

“Oh, my G--no,” Scott moans.  “I don’t believe this,” he whispers, his head dropping into his hands.  “I don’t even know what that girl said to her, but Tessa...that last day that I talked to her, she was pregnant.”  He’s sure of it now, looking back, picturing her standing there on his front porch, arms wrapped protectively across her still-flat belly, eye red-rimmed from crying.  “And she thought that I didn’t want her, that I didn’t want the baby. It’s what she still must think.” Now his eyes are burning in earnest, because in all his life he’d never felt so utterly rotten.  He feels guilty and angry and just...sad, so profoundly sad.

 

Scott feels his Mom’s hand, warm and comforting on his upper back, and he turns to face her.  “I have to find her. I have to talk to her.” He watches as his Mom nods her agreement to this plan.  “I have to find Tessa,” he repeats, suddenly on his feet, already formulating a plan as he heads for the front door, not bothering to explain himself or even stop to say goodbye.

 

++++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an aside...what I know about Scott and Tessa's families I pretty much gathered from other people's stories. I don't know how old Danny and Tessa's (I didn't even know his wife's name was Tessa, although I assume that's true after reading it multiple times in multiple stories) kids are, so let's just pretend that timeline works and that she was pregnant during that time. If not, in this universe, they have an extra kid. You're welcome Danny and "Tessa Two". :)
> 
> Also, see, I told you not to hate Scott too much.


	4. FOUR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited to add just a quick note: Because a couple of people have asked, Annika, in this story, is pronounced AH-nih-kuh or AWN-uh-kuh (think Hanukkah)--this really only matters because Tessa calls her "Anna" (like Donna) for short, and that won't make sense if you're pronouncing her name ANN-ih-kuh or Uh-NEE-kuh (both of which are also correct, but not in use here). Hope that clears things up a bit! If you're still struggling, here's an audio pronunciation: (#1, 3 and 4 are the pronunciation I'm referring to) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TQya3CNxY8Q

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Tessa sits cross legged on the bathroom counter facing the mirror, Annika in her lap.  It’s early morning, and they are both clad in oversized t-shirts, their favorite type of pajamas.  Tessa watches her daughter observe her closely as she applies her mascara. When she’s finished she flutters her lashes, dramatically, and then winks at Annika’s reflection.  Annika squints both eyes shut tightly in reply, her slightly uncoordinated version of a wink, and Tessa chuckles in response. Humming to herself, Tessa grabs her blush brush and applies a miniscule amount of rosy pink powder to it.  She smiles knowingly as Annika’s eyes light up in response.

 

“Me do it!” Annika squeals, happily, bouncing against Tessa’s folded calves.

 

“You want to do it?” Tessa asks, rhetorically.  “Okay, here you go,” she says, handing the brush to Annika who takes it carefully in her not-so-nimble grasp and turns in Tessa’s lap to face her.  Tessa closes her eyes and tilts her chin down slightly, awaiting the familiar tickle of the brush against her skin. The soft bristles drag clumsily along her cheek bones for a good thirty seconds before Annika seems satisfied and announces, “All done!” proudly.  It sounds more like  _ awwdun _ , but Tessa is fluent in Annika-speak.

 

Tessa assesses the damage in the mirror.  Not too bad, actually, she finds. “Good job, Anna!” she gushes, admiring her reflection with exaggerated maternal pride.  “You made Mama beautiful. Thank you, baby,” she praises, kissing the top of her daughter’s head and breathing in that baby-sweet smell that she finds simply divine.  “Okay, almost done,” she says, grabbing her tinted lip gloss and quickly applying a thin layer of Very Berry to her lips with the built-in wand before puckering up and facing her daughter.  

 

Not needing to be prompted, Annika places both of her tiny hands against Tessa’s cheeks and leans forward to kiss her mother with a loud, wet  _ smack _ .  Tessa presses her lips together and releases them with a soft  _ pop _ , smoothing out her gloss and prompting Annika to imitate her, perfectly.  She grins and they both face the mirror, heads tilted together, smiling happily at one another’s reflection.  “All done!” Tessa says.

 

Annika is scrambling off of her lap before she can even take a breath.

 

Tessa unfolds her legs gracefully and turns, slipping off of the countertop and standing once again on the cold tile.  She pivots and places a hand on her daughter’s sturdy back, keeping her balanced as she makes her way along the countertop until she reaches the far end and takes her usual seat, back against the wall, feet in the basin of the sink.  

 

_ Like mother, like daughter _ , Tessa thinks.

 

Tessa turns the water on low and watches as Anna splays her chubby, pink toes under the tap, laughing gleefully.  Each nail has been dotted carefully by Tessa with pale pink polish, per her daughter’s insistence. She can’t help but find those chubby toes with their tiny nails completely irresistible.  She hands Annika her yellow ducky toothbrush with a small dot of bubblegum flavored toothpaste on it and then gets to work on her hair while her child is momentarily distracted.

 

This is their morning routine.  It’s been this way since Annika was a newborn and Tessa would sit indian-style on the counter with her baby lying happily in the cradle of her folded legs as she brushed her teeth and threw on a face mask--she hadn’t bothered with make-up back then, still didn’t about ninety percent of the time, except for a quick swipe of mascara and some lip gloss.  She knows Annika loves the process, though, especially any type of blush or powder application. She absolutely loses her mind over eyeshadow, but they can’t do that one on days where Tessa actually has to leave the house. She often ends up looking slightly deranged after a full make-up session with her child, so they save the full treatment for times when she knows she doesn’t have to go out or when Aunt Jo is coming over and Annika gets to do a two-fer, which is infinitely more thrilling for her because Aunt Jo will spend an additional half hour allowing her to take a million selfies.  Jordan’s iphone is full of some truly frightening images that have resulted from these impromptu photo shoots. Tessa’s made her swear to never share them with anyone outside of their immediate family.

 

Tessa gathers her hair into a loose braid at her crown and begins adding in chunky pieces until it all comes together in the loose french braid that she’s taken to sporting as of late.  As an afterthought she tugs at each layer until it’s extra loose and full looking. Happy with the result, she steps back from the counter, grateful Annika has remained entertained long enough for her to finish getting herself ready.  Getting her hair done is always the trickiest part of their morning routine because when Annika “helps”, the process takes a lot longer. Also, Tessa has discovered that there are few things in life more physically painful than a toddler wielding a hairbrush.  In fact, she’s toyed with just cutting all of her hair off, but she’s never quite been able to talk herself into doing it. She’s pretty much always worn it long, and she can’t really picture it short. Plus, she knows that Annika won’t be little forever, so she figures she’ll just wait this phase out a little longer.  She’s already blown away by how fast the years have gone by. It seems like she’d only just discovered she was pregnant a few months ago, and already she has this amazing little person sharing her life. It’s kind of crazy when she stops to think about it.

 

She runs her brush carefully through Annika’s baby-fine hair as the girl chatters happily and continues to “brush” her teeth, which mostly consists of her chewing on the bristles and sucking off all of the flavored toothpaste.  By the time she hands the brush back to Tessa, indicating that she’s finished, Tessa has managed to secure her hair into two perky little pigtails.

 

She spends another minute  _ actually _ brushing her daughter’s teeth and drying off her feet before lifting her into her arms and moving toward her bedroom so she can get dressed.  As they move down the hall, Tessa pats Annika’s chunky thigh and presses a kiss against her cheek, something she does about five thousand times a day.  Annika smiles up at her in frank adoration, the crisp, red outline of Tessa’s kiss now adorning the apple of her cheek. Tessa grins back, equally besotted.  Having Annika is the absolute best thing she’s ever done with her life, hands down. No competition.

 

But it hasn’t always been easy.

 

Well, her pregnancy, at least,  _ had _ been pretty easy.  Physically, anyway. Her OB had credited her Olympic-level fitness for that fact.  Even the birth had been what he’d called “textbook”. It hadn’t felt very textbook at the time, but she’s grateful that it’d been uncomplicated, nonetheless, even if it  _ had _ been the single most physically painful thing she’s ever experienced.  It had been totally worth it in the end though.

 

Emotionally, however, it’d been a lot more difficult.  Still worth it, for sure, but infinitely more difficult.  She’d been so hurt and angry at Scott for reacting to her pregnancy the way that he had, for letting her down when she’d needed him the most.  He’d been her best friend for as long as she could remember, even before she’d realized that he was and definitely before she’d been comfortable labeling him as such in her mind.  Growing up the way they had wasn’t normal, and it’d created an unusually intense bond between them. From the time she was thirteen years old he’d become the single most important person in her world.  As they’d grown older and their feelings for each other had become more confusing they’d struggled with being, at any given point, too close or not close enough, both physically and emotionally. As a result , they’d had their ups and downs, but he’d  _ promised _ her after that first surgery, when things had fallen apart so spectacularly, that he’d be there whenever she needed him, from there on out, no matter what.  But he hadn’t. He’d lied.

 

He’d  _ lied _ to her.  She’d believed him when he said he would always be there, and then he simply...wasn’t, and eventually that was the thing that’d stayed with her and turned her anger into deep, aching, sadness.  

 

As her pregnancy progressed and she realized that she wasn’t just pregnant, that she was, in fact, going to be a  _ mom _ ...to a  _ person _ , who was going to some day ask about his or her father...it had just all become too much to think about.  Because what could she say, really? What could she say to this child that was growing in her belly, when she didn’t even know what to say to herself?  So, rather than deal with reality, she’d begun to sleep. She’d slept all the time, unwilling, and at points, unable, to force herself out of bed. Finally, her mom and Jordan, beside themselves with worry, had insisted she talk to someone because she’d absolutely refused to talk to either of them.  She loved them both, but as angry as she was at Scott, beyond the necessary details, she just couldn’t bring herself to talk to them about him.

 

_ A professional _ , they’d pushed,  _ soon _ .  

 

She’d balked, but she’d gone.  She’d known, even in her altered mental state, that they were right.  She’d been diagnosed with mild depression and was offered pharmaceutical treatment in light of the diagnosis, but she hadn’t wanted to take anything while she was pregnant, despite assurances that certain medications wouldn’t affect the baby.  Instead, she’d started seeing a therapist regularly, which had really helped her to not only deal with her concerns regarding becoming a mother and the dramatic changes that were occurring in her previously Olympic-ready body, but also to come to terms with some of her feelings regarding Scott.  Therapy didn’t give her all the answers regarding what had happened between the two of them, but it did give her tools to deal with the way she’d been left feeling in the aftermath.

 

She actually still sees her therapist, Sarah, when life gets a little overwhelming, which it still does on occasion.  Her appointments are on an as-needed basis now though. She hasn’t gone regularly in over a year. She hasn’t needed to.  These days she’s settled into being a single mom, and even though some days it’s a struggle, knowing she’ll likely be doing this on her own for the foreseeable future, if not forever--she just can’t imagine herself leaving Annika at home to go on a date with some random guy--most days she thinks she’s doing alright.  

 

That first year in New York had been a rough one though…

 

She’d remained surprisingly stoic throughout her pregnancy; sad, but not overly emotional as she’d feared she might be, given how miserable she felt most of the time.  Somehow, despite the pregnancy hormones, she’d managed to hold most of her emotions in.

 

She’d cried when her daughter was born though.  Overwhelmingly happy, cup-runneth-over, tears of joy.  She’d laughed and cried at the same time, and then she’d turned to Kate, and sobbed.  

 

Great, heaving, broken-hearted sobs.  Loud and violent and long, long overdue.

 

“Oh, honey,” Kate had whispered, gathering Tessa into her arms, lovingly.  “I know,” she’d whispered, softly, into her daughter’s sweat-damp hair, shushing her as she hadn’t done since she was a small child.  “I know, baby,” she’d said, wiping at her tears, ineffectually. “But look at how beautiful and perfect she is, Tessa. You did this amazing thing.”

 

Tessa’d managed a nod, but seemed utterly incapable of stopping the sobs that continued to wrack her body, jostling both herself and her daughter, dramatically.  “Sh-she looks j-just like h-him,” she’d cried, brokenly, her voice faltering on the last word. She couldn’t even bring herself to say his name out loud. Her eyes had found her mom’s in that instant and pleaded for something, silently...a denial, a confirmation...she wasn’t sure even now what she’d needed, honestly.

 

It was true though, Kate would later concede.  Tessa’s baby girl did, in fact, have big, beautiful, unmistakably  _ Moir _ eyes.

 

In the moment, though, she’d said the only thing she could think to say.  “You’re gonna be okay, Tessa Jane. I’m here, and you have this beautiful, sweet baby girl, and you are both gonna be okay.  Okay?” And, in the end, that was exactly what Tessa had needed to hear. 

 

Kate had caught her daughter’s eyes then and held them until Tessa had managed a deep breath and a trembling smile in response.  Then, Kate had whispered, “My baby girl is a mama,” and shaken her head, dazedly. They’d both cried happy tears after that and spent the next little while inspecting every inch of the beautiful little person who’d just come into their lives.

 

Tessa had felt lighter after that violent release of emotion.  Sarah had been encouraging her for months that it was okay to grieve the loss of what she’d shared with Scott for all those years, but it hadn’t been an easy place for her to go, emotionally.  Part of her thinks now that she hadn’t wanted to grieve that loss at all, because that meant accepting that he was really no longer a part of her life. It was in those initial moments following Annika’s birth, though, that she’d started to feel like  _ Tessa _ , full stop, for the first time in her life.  

 

It was her first glimpse of who she was all on her own.  

 

In the pictures that Jordan took in the delivery room that day, Tessa can recognize the change in herself.  It’s an odd thing to have tangible evidence of such a defining moment in your life, to be able to hold two photographs side by side and recognize the old and new versions of yourself.  Tessa can though, and she’s amazed sometimes at both the differences and the similarities of the Tessa she was before the birth of her daughter and the Tessa who came after.

 

She’s grateful to Jordan for taking those pictures that day.  She’d been in the delivery room the entire time, mostly hanging back, just taking photos and making sure that Tessa had an endless supply of ice chips and cold compresses.  Throughout the long hours of labor though, she’d stepped forward in crucial moments and filled the role that Scott might have filled in another life, rubbing Tessa’s back and offering a hand to hold when there was nothing anyone could do for her but be there.  Tessa loved her big sister a lot for the support she’d shown her during those hours and in the months and years that followed.

 

Kate and Jordan had been with her every step of the way, and she owed them both so very much.  They’d spent the first few months of Annika’s life living with Tessa to varying degrees, and then the past couple of years being readily available should absolutely any need arise.  It had only been in the last six months or so that Tessa had been able to keep her head above water enough to look around and realize how much of their lives they’d truly given up for her.  She was so incredibly grateful to both of them for their devotion to her and her daughter. They both had incredibly close bonds with Annika to show for it, but they absolutely deserved their lives back.  So, it was with that in mind that, several months ago, Tessa had insisted they all make the move back to Canada. She’d chosen Toronto, specifically, because it was close to home, but not  _ too _ close.  It would allow Kate to move back home to London, if she chose, and still not be too far away from Tessa and Annika.  And Jordan...well, who knows where Jordan will land, but she will land there with Tessa’s blessing and her infinite gratitude.

 

Personally, Tessa misses the slower pace of London, and would love to have moved back there rather than settling in the larger, busier metropolis of Toronto.  Sometimes on her more maudlin days, when she feels like torturing herself with visions of an impossible future, she even imagines a little house in Ilderton, somewhere close to the Moirs’...but then she snaps herself back to reality, not willing to allow herself to slip back into an emotional landscape where she needs weekly therapy just to cope.  She knows that allowing herself to imagine her daughter surrounded by grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins who had no idea she even existed before yesterday is a surefire way to land herself back there very quickly.

 

Of course, after yesterday, she may need regular therapy again just to manage her anxiety over the fact that now she knows the Moirs  _ do _ know about Annika.  She’d wondered sometimes, over the past three years, if Alma and Joe might want to know her daughter, even if Scott had chosen not to be a part of her life.  She’d felt guilty for shutting them out like she had. It hadn’t been fair to them, and she knows it. There were times she’d toyed with the idea of having Kate call Alma.  She knew her mother missed their friendship, and she knew it would only take a phone call, but...even though they’d been like family to her for as long as she could remember, in the end, they were really Scott’s family, not hers, and she’d been too devastated by what he’d done to risk being anywhere near him or anyone that reminded her of him.

 

_ Good thing my daughter doesn’t remind me of him at all _ , she thinks, sarcastically, to herself.

 

Annika reminds her of Scott in so many ways, or at least she reminds her of who Scott used to be.  She’s outgoing and quick with a smile, less shy than Tessa herself was as a child, though she knows that might still change.  For now though, she seems to have inherited Scott’s outgoing nature. She’s  _ such _ a ham, always ready to entertain anyone who’s willing to act as her audience.  She loves to sing, and she sings along to  _ everything _ \--the radio, movie soundtracks, even commercial jingles.  Tessa imagines she’ll be a karaoke queen someday, and she wonders, absently, if Scott still loves to karaoke.  

 

She has no idea who he is now, she realizes.  He’d been a far cry from the boy she’d loved the last time she’d seen him.  He’d been a man bent on destroying himself, from what she’d witnessed, and she hopes, despite everything, that he somehow managed to get his life together.  She tries not to dwell on the fact that he could be married by now, could have other kids. Her heart gives a painful squeeze at the thought of him holding someone else’s baby when he hadn’t wanted to hold theirs.

 

“Mama,” she hears Annika’s voice call softly, and she looks down, surprised to find her daughter staring up at her wearing a two-and-a-half year old’s version of concern on her face.  

 

They are standing in the middle of Tessa’s closet, Annika still perched on Tessa’s hip, and Tessa realizes that she has no idea how long she’s been standing there, unmoving, staring at a rack of seasonally organized clothes.

 

Shaking herself out of her emotionally-weighted musings, she buries her face in the space between her daughter’s neck and shoulder and plants noisy kisses there, pretending, dramatically, to eat her up, until Annika shrieks with delight and throws herself sideways, attempting to escape from her mother’s arms.  Tessa sets her down and tugs an outfit free from the overstuffed closet, before following her back out into the bedroom calling, “Mama’s gonna get you, Anna! You better run and hide!”

 

She watches her daughter disappear out the bedroom door on surprisingly steady legs.  She’ll hide in her closet. It’s where she “hides” every time. Incidentally, that’s exactly where Tessa needs her to be, so she can wrangle her into some clothes.

 

“Mama’s gonna get you!” she calls again as she reaches her bedroom doorway and pokes her head out into the hall, playfully.  Her little girl laughs, unabashedly, so full of delight that it borders on hysteria. Tessa grins in response.

 

_ Nothing beats that sound _ , she thinks, as she follows Annika into her bedroom.

  
  


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	5. FIVE

++++

  
  
  


Scott takes the winding curves toward his house a little faster than is absolutely necessary, his hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles go white with the pressure.  He knows he should probably relax his foot a little on the accelerator, but he can’t. In his mind, he’s already miles ahead, in Toronto, and he can’t seem to keep his body from trying to catch up with himself.  Thankfully, he knows these roads well, and he’s pulling into his driveway in record time. The fixer-upper he’d bought a couple of years ago is only about a ten minute drive from his parents’ house.

 

He’d just made it in four.

 

He springs from his car, taking the front porch steps two at time, before fumbling with his keys as he hurries to get inside.  The space is open and clean and smells of fresh paint and raw cedar. He’d completed the renovation the year before, replacing the old painted shiplap with unvarnished cedar planks and the original formica countertops with butcher block in the kitchen and granite in the bathrooms, but he hadn’t yet gotten around to decorating the place.  The rooms remain bachelor-pad sparse at present, just waiting to be filled with all of the touches that will make his house a home. In the last year, he hasn’t found himself to be particularly motivated to make those adjustments, though, and has instead continued to inhabit this shrine to potential. It has _glorious_ potential, he sees it, but everytime he thinks about fabric swatches and wall art he imagines showing them to someone, arguing over the silly details, and he can’t make himself start the process.  And if that nebulous _someone_ has long, dark hair and gorgeous green eyes, well...he has a type, he tells himself, he knows this.  It doesn’t mean anything.

 

He makes his way into the master bedroom, throwing open the closet door and pulling down a dark, canvas duffle bag, already cramming things, mindlessly, inside.  His hand pauses on the sleeve of a faded, blue Maple Leafs hoodie. His favorite.

 

It’s the one she’d always stolen from him when she’d curled up next to him on the couch, when she was sixteen...and nineteen...and twenty-six.  It completely swallowed her petite frame, and he’d loved to watch her pull her legs up inside of it until only her toes peeked out, curling over the edge of the couch cushions.

 

Tessa.

 

God, he misses her.  He misses her like he imagines someone might miss a severed limb or a twin, like a part of himself that had just always been there, until suddenly it wasn’t.  As partners and best friends they’d had their own way of communicating; for years, they’d finished each other’s thoughts and sentences, moved together with almost unconscious fluidity, and then the one time they’d crossed that line into something more, they’d fit together perfectly, like...well, very _not_ like twins.  After all this time, he still can’t precisely articulate what she’d been to him.  At any given point she’d been so many things--she’d been his best friend, she’d mothered him, she’d shared his childhood like a sibling, she’d been his confidante, his biggest champion, his lover...she’d been _everything_ , once.  And now...

 

He can’t even begin to wrap his mind around what happened between them, can’t imagine that she’ll ever forgive him or even entertain him long enough to hear his explanation, his apology.  He has to try though. He _has_ to because she’s out there somewhere, right now, believing the absolute worst of him.  He’s feeling so many conflicting emotions in this moment. Mostly guilt, and shock, and loss...but there’s anger there, too, because how could she believe he’d ever turn her away?  How could she think he wouldn’t want his child? Any child of his, but _especially_ their child?

 

Okay, so he _had_ shut her out, and he _had_ told her that he couldn’t be with her, but _fuck_ , they’d spent the night together after at least a solid decade of dancing around it, and then she’d bolted before he woke up like it was the absolute worst decision she’d ever made.  She’d left her _own fucking house_ , for God’s sake.  He’d woken up feeling, he would guess, every bit as apprehensive as she had, only to discover that he was all alone in a bed that still smelled like them.  That moment had shut down something inside of him, something that he’d only just allowed to flicker into being. So, he’d decided to give her what she’d been begging for for months, space to find out who she was on her own.  

 

 _You want space from me_ , he’d thought.   _Fine.  Done._

 

She’d told him after Sochi that they needed to take some time to figure out who they were going to be apart from each other.  It’d taken him aback because he hadn’t really realized that a separation from skating would mean a separation from Tessa. He’d feared it, but somehow he hadn’t actually expected it.  Still, to his way of thinking, not much had changed between them after that conversation, except that he’d gone a little overboard with the partying and that really wasn’t Tessa’s scene, so there’d been a little more space than usual between them.  They’d still talked though, she’d still driven him home from the bar on more than one occasion when he’d had a few too many drinks, and he’d still shown up to take care of her that weekend when she’d been so sick, because at the heart of it all, she was still his best friend.  That was a huge part of who she’d always been to him, who they’d always been to each other...right up until that night.

 

 _I got Tessa pregnant that night_ , he thinks, and stumbles toward the foot of his bed, suddenly finding that he needs to sit down.

 

Tessa, his Tess, who he’d struggled so hard for so many years to not see as anything more than sweet little Tutu.  Tessa, who had blown that image out of the water at fourteen when they’d left home together and she’d announced, very seriously, the first time they stepped onto competitive ice in Kitchener, that if they were giving up this much for their sport then it needed to count, and for the foreseeable future he would be the _only_ man in her life.  Tessa, who at sixteen tilted his world on its axis when she’d unilaterally taken that vow back by losing her virginity to some guitar-playing douche she’d met a few months before while visiting Jordan at school.

 

Part of him hadn’t taken her words that day in Kitchener seriously, but part of him, at fifteen, had walked a little taller knowing he held such a significant place in her life.  When she’d admitted, with sparkly-eyed excitement, two short years later, that she’d let Douchebag McStrummer fuck her in the backseat of his mom’s Impala he’d realized for the first time how very much he hated the idea of anyone, male or female, having a part of her that he didn’t have.  There’d been too much of an “us” versus “them” mentality for too many years for him to feel comfortable on the outside of her life looking in. They were _Tessa and Scott_ , always.  Whatever she needed, he was supposed to be the one to provide it.   _Him_.  At eighteen, he hadn’t been sure what to do with that realization, but there it’d been.

 

For the next few years, he’d bucked against that feeling, alternately holding her too close and pushing her away, never quite sure where exactly he wanted her to be at any given moment.  It hadn’t been fair to her, and he knows that now, but it’d held true right up until that night in London, a year after Sochi, when he’d woken up to the sound of her crying down the hall.  

 

It wasn’t as if he’d never seen her cry before, but it was an extremely rare occasion, and he’d _never_ seen her this upset, not even before her first surgery when she’d been so scared that she might never skate again or before her second surgery when she’d been absolutely devastated that the first surgery had failed...this was a level of hysteria he hadn’t known Tessa Virtue was capable of, and _he_ had caused it.  His recklessness and irresponsibility over the previous year had left her terrified for his very life.  As a guy in his mid-twenties, in peak physical form, he’d still fancied himself somewhat invincible, having not yet reached that time in his life where he would come face to face with his own mortality.  That would come a couple of months later, when Tessa was suddenly gone, and he’d thought her absence might truly kill him. That night though, coming face to face with the amount of emotional distress she’d been internalizing on his behalf had brought him up short.

 

In that moment, he’d finally known _exactly_ where he wanted her, and the answer was simple.  

 

With him.  

 

And as terrified as he’d been of their very nebulous future, he’d known in that moment that as long as said future held _Tessa and Scott_ , the way they’d always been, then he’d be okay.  Everything else would work itself out.

 

Looking back now he sees how immature that was, how naive, but in that moment, he’d believed it, accepted it wholeheartedly, and he’d felt safe and _okay_ for the first time in months, possibly _years_ ...but he’d woken up the next morning only to find that she, obviously, hadn’t felt that way at all.  After such certainty and clarity following years of confusion and _un_ certainty regarding his feelings for her, her doubt and what he’d interpreted as regret had been devastating, because for just a moment he’d caught a glimpse of an entire life with Tessa that’d made sense in a way that nothing else ever had to him, not even skating.  To have that all snatched away so abruptly had left him floundering, and in defense he’d shut down, drawing into himself to lick his wounds. He’d like to think he’s a little older and hopefully a little wiser now--losing everything will do that to a person, give you perspective you’d have never gleaned any other way.  Now, three years later, he sees the immaturity of his reaction. She had reacted badly to what happened between them, and his feelings had without a doubt been valid, but shutting her out to protect himself and to punish her was the absolute worst thing he could have done. He’d reacted to his perception of her feelings, never stopping to ask her what her feelings actually were.  For all of their work on communication, he’d bungled that morning-after so badly. As the man he is today, he has no real excuse for the guy he’d been back then, other than to say, he’d panicked, just as much or more than she had, because being with Tessa that night had _mattered_ in a way that nothing before or since ever had.  And he’d never gotten to tell her that, and he supposes after everything that’s happened, it doesn’t even matter anymore because she’s never going to be be willing to hear it from him now.

 

He stands from the foot of his bed, shaking himself back into action.  Right now the only thing that matters is getting to her, and making her understand that he did not know she was pregnant when she came to see him that day three years ago.  He doesn’t have an excuse for the way he’d treated her, but he does have the fact that he was ignorant of the full picture that day on his side. Hopefully, if he can convince her of that truth, then it will open the door for a longer conversation later.  

 

He snatches his bag from the floor and says what amounts to a prayer as he heads for the door.

 

 _Please_ , he prays, silently.  That’s all. Just, _please_.

  


++++

  


Early the next morning Scott finds himself at JJ’s Fabric Emporium, wearing his most charming smile and using every bit of charisma he has amassed in his thirty years of living in order to glean some scrap of information from the young sales girl currently working the register.  He knows Tessa must be a regular here because his Dad said she was familiar enough with the clerk that she’d let the girl keep an eye on her daughter for her while she’d shopped. He’s taking a chance and hoping that the checkout girl will know exactly who he’s asking about.

 

He spins a tale about meeting a pretty girl named Tessa amongst the rows of fabric yesterday and getting her number but then accidentally losing it before he could call her.  He describes her, briefly, and then lifts his eyebrows in what he hopes is a compelling way.

 

Thankfully, the girl takes pity on him.  “Look, there’s a coffee shop three doors down.  Tessa’s a regular there. I don’t feel comfortable giving you her personal information, but if you want to take a shot at bumping into her again, then be my guest.  If you’re serious enough about finding her to be persistent, then you’ll catch her there, eventually. Then you can tell _her_ your sob story, and she can decide whether to give you a second chance or not.”

 

Relief floods his system, and he flashes her a winning smile.  She has no idea how serious he is about finding Tessa. As for his shot at a second chance, he’s doubtful that will be in the cards, but for right now, he’ll settle for just seeing her again.  “Fair enough,” he replies. “And thank you!” he calls, already heading out the door and moving in the direction of the “Cuppa Joe” sign he can see just down the block.

 

He will sit at this coffee shop every single day, from open to close, until he runs into her, he thinks, determinedly.

 

As it turns out, he doesn’t have to wait that long.

  


++++

  
  


“GiGi’s here, Annika!” Tessa calls over her shoulder as she closes the front door behind Kate after letting her into the living room.  Kate has a key of her own but her arms are leaden down with several packages, two of which, Tessa can tell, hold frozen casseroles that are perfectly portioned for herself and Annika.  By necessity, she’s gotten better at cooking since her daughter came along, but she still struggles, and Kate makes sure to pick up the slack so that her granddaughter doesn’t starve to death or develop an early affinity for take-out.

 

“GiGi!” Annika squeals with delight as she flies into the living room, tossing herself bodily at Kate’s legs and throwing her arms around her calves as if she hadn’t just seen her grandmother two days prior.  

 

“Clearly, she hardly missed you at all,” Tessa deadpans, as she takes the packages from her mother’s outstretched hands so that the older Virtue can sweep Annika up into her arms.

 

“Did you miss me?  I missed _you_ ,” Kate exclaims, pressing kisses onto Annika’s rounded cheeks.

 

Annika nods, her chubby arms circling around her grandmother’s neck, squeezing as tightly as her little body will allow.  Tessa looks on, enjoying the closeness shared by two of her favorite people in the world, but already steeling herself for the conversation to come.

 

“So, I ran into Joe yesterday…” she starts, heading toward the kitchen to relieve herself of the packages she’d just taken from her mother.

 

“Joe _Moir_?” Kate gasps, surprised.

 

“Yeah,” Tessa sighs, placing the bags on the counter and turning back to face her mother.  Her heart races a little now just remembering the shock of the moment.

 

“Did you have Annika with you?” she asks, concerned.

 

“Yeah,” Tessa nods, taking a deep breath and blowing it out.

 

“What happened?” Kate asks, voice calm, but eyes wide with trepidation.

 

“I was at the fabric warehouse, picking up some new fabric that I needed,” she starts, gesturing nervously with her hands.  “Which I didn’t even remember to get, by the way, after the shock of running into him,” she adds, frustrated. “So, now I have to go back to JJ’s to get it--thank you for coming to watch Anna, by the way.”

 

“Of course,” Kate acknowledges, waving her away dismissively with one hand before raising her eyebrows in encouragement.   _Go on_ , they seem to say.

 

Tessa recounts what happened at the fabric store ending with, “So then I just sat there in the parking lot like an idiot, trying not to cry in front of Annika.  I mean, _he knows_?,” she mocks herself.  “What was I thinking telling Joe that way?”

 

“Oh, honey,” Kate hushes her.  “How could you have reacted any differently?”

 

“Well, I could have not called his son out like that.  I mean, Joe clearly had no idea I was the mother of his granddaughter.  It wasn’t fair to him to find out that way. He and Alma don’t deserve that...not from me.”

 

“Well, I think Scott is the one who is going to have to answer for that.  Don’t you?”

 

“I just feel like maybe I owed it to them to give them a chance to know her even if he didn’t want to be involved.”  Maybe she could have...it’d been so painful though. “I could’ve tried to be stronger...for them,” she says, quietly.

 

“Honey, you were busy being strong for yourself and your daughter.  It took a lot of work to get where you are. Don’t beat yourself up now.”  Kate places a comforting hand on Tessa’s arm. “Besides, now they know. Maybe this is for the best.  Annika’s still little, and if they want to get to know her, which my guess is that they will, she’ll never remember a time before they were a part of her life.”  Kate’s hand shifts up to cup Tessa’s cheek, lovingly. “How are you doing with all of this? Are you going to be okay with having contact with Scott’s family again?” she asks, concern for her daughter creeping into her voice.

 

“I mean, I guess I have to be, right?  I know it’s the best thing for Annika, and, I mean, I’ve always loved The Moirs.  They’re great. I would’ve loved to be a part of their family, and now my daughter can have that.”  She meets Kate’s eyes and when she sees the sad, knowing look on her mother’s face she reviews her words, silently, and then blushes at their implication.  She hadn’t meant that the way it sounded, like she’d spent her adolescence imagining being Alma and Joe’s daughter-in-law, fitting seamlessly into their family’s life just like she’d fit into their son’s.  It was true though, she _had_ fit into their family so seamlessly for so many years, it’d been too easy to, at different points over the years, imagine herself as one of them.  It’s not something she’d ever admitted to anyone though, not even to herself, really. “I just meant...I didn’t mean…” she mumbles, her words trailing off, uncomfortably.

 

“I know what you meant, sweetheart,” Kate replied, quietly.

 

Tessa wasn’t sure that she did, but she appreciated being let off the hook, regardless.  

 

“Anyway,” Tessa continues, “I need a little time, maybe a couple of days, to figure out what I’m going to say, and then I think I’m going to go see Alma.  I feel like I owe it to her to speak with her face to face.” She doesn’t know how to say what she needs to say to her, to them, without her anger toward Scott getting the best of her though, and his parents don’t deserve that, so she needs to figure out how to have that conversation with them before she approaches them.

 

As it turns out, she doesn’t have time to prepare at all.  And the Moir she ends up speaking to is _not_ the one she’d intended.

  
  
  


++++

  
  


Tessa has just managed to find a parking spot in the crowded lot outside of JJ’s when she spots the sign for Cuppa Joe’s, her favorite coffee shop, out of the corner of her eye.   _Coffee first, then errands_ , she thinks.  She needs the caffeine jolt, and she can already smell the delicious roasting coffee beans from the front seat of her car.

 

The line is long, snaking out the front door, and she’s standing there contemplating leaving and coming back later when she hears her name coming from directly behind her.  The voice is male and hesitant and heartbreakingly familiar to her on an elemental level.

 

And it feels as if someone has just poured ice cold water straight down her spine.   

 

“Tessa.”

 

Her scalp prickles and goose bumps rise up along the lengths of her extremities.  Her eyes close, involuntarily. It can’t be him. He cannot have tracked her down this fast, this easily.  It can’t really be him, and yet, she _knows_ that it is.

 

She turns around, opens her eyes, and sure enough, there he is.

 

“Scott,” she whispers, and it’s the first time his name has passed her lips in years.  The last time being the night she’d confessed to her mom that she was pregnant.

 

_“Scott?” her mother had asked in a voice that was both gentle and knowing._

 

_“Scott,” she’d croaked, thickly, nodding.  It was all she’d managed to say, but there’d been an ocean of confessions in that single word._

 

She clears her throat now and makes herself ask him, “What do you want?”  She knows why he’s here. He’s here because his Dad told him where to find her, but she’s shocked by the fact that he must have been just sitting here waiting for her to show up, and she can’t imagine why he’s come here _now_ , after all this time.  Her heart beats heavily in her chest, forcing uncomfortably large quantities of blood through her veins, and she tries to ignore the hopeful voice way down deep in her heart that’s suggesting maybe he regrets his decision all those years ago.  She’s simultaneously livid with herself for feeling anything like hope in regard to him, and livid with him for daring to show up here after what he’d asked her to do. She pictures Annika’s sweet, innocent face and her back stiffens, her resolve strengthening.   _Scott Moir can go fuck himself_ , she thinks, as she turns and heads back the way she’d come.

 

“ _Tessa_ ,” he says, and by the tone of his voice, she’s said that last bit out loud.  

 

She doesn’t stop walking though, even as she hears his feet behind her on the sidewalk, even as he calls her name repeatedly.

 

“Tessa!  Tessa! Is it true?” he calls, and she can tell he’s stopped walking.  He holds his ground now as he takes aim, fires the first sharp arrow. “Do I have a daughter?”

 

She feels the sharp point of his words sink into the exposed flesh of her back, and she pauses for a moment, attempting to establish if the wound is mortal or if she’s still able to stagger away.  The shock and pain have her spinning on her heel before she can make any kind of firm decision. “No!” she yells, moving toward him until they are toe to toe, face to face. “You don’t get to ask me that!” she all but screams.  “You forfeited the right to come here and ask me that!” Her index finger hovers over his chest, shaking with barely controlled fury. “You don’t get to know her! You don’t get to know anything about her, because you _don’t_ have a daughter!  I do!”

 

Her words confirm the truth, and for a second that confirmation renders him completely silent, because knowing and _knowing_ are two totally different things.  When she takes a step back as if to leave, though, it propels him into action.  He reaches forward, wrapping his hand around her wrist to stay her. It’s the first time he’s touched her in three years, and they both pull back from the contact immediately, shocked.  

 

He plows ahead before she can attempt to leave again.

 

“I didn’t know, Tessa!  I swear to God, I didn’t know!”

 

“What do you mean, you didn’t _know_ ?” she spits out in disbelief.  Her brain struggles to make sense of his nonsense.  “Did you really think I _wouldn’t_ have the baby?” she asks, her voice suddenly quieter, but no less angry.  “Just because you couldn’t be bothered to be a father?”

 

She sees hurt flash across his face and watches his jaw clench before he says, his volume matching hers, “Tessa, I didn’t know you were pregnant.”

 

“You looked me in the eye and said you didn’t want our baby, Scott!  Maybe you were too drunk to remember, but I was there, I was sober, and I will never forget those words for as long as I live!”  There is pain in her voice that she can’t hide, and she knows it and hates herself for letting him be privy to her vulnerability.

 

“Tessa, I swear to you, I did _not_ know!  That day, you said, _Tell me you don’t want us_ , and I thought you meant you and me!”  He shifts on his feet, visibly frustrated, “I was an idiot, but I was so messed up back then, you know I was, and then after what happened between us and the way you reacted...I was just...I was falling apart.”

 

 _“You_ were falling apart?  I was having a _baby_!” she cries.

 

He blanches at her words because...yeah.  

 

Her eyes are bright with tears, but they don’t fall, they merely hover on the edge of her lashes, shaming him.

 

“I know,” he practically whispers.  “I didn’t know that then, but I know it now, and I’m sorry, T.  I’m so, so sorry.”

 

For some reason his use of her old nickname scratches against her skin like sandpaper being dragged across a fresh sunburn.  She takes a step back, putting some distance between them. “How can you possibly say you didn’t know? I came to you that day to _make_ you say it to my face because it was the only way I could believe it.”  She shakes her head and feels her tears tremble on her lower lashes, still hanging on tenaciously, refusing to fall.  “When I texted you the night before, after I took the test, and you sa--you said,” her voice falters, as she struggles over the part that she has never repeated, not to anyone, not even to her therapist.  

 

She’d told Jordan and Kate the bare minimum, that Scott hadn’t wanted the baby, and she’d repeated the same to Sarah, months later, but she’d never repeated those hateful words from that text message out loud.  Back then, it had seemed like an affront to the life growing inside of her, and even now, all these years later, to breathe life into those words after all this time feels like a personal attack on her baby.

 

Tessa pictures Annika’s sweet face as she’d been last night, her cheeks pink with sleep and her perfectly bowed lips parted slightly as she’d slumbered against her chest.  Tessa can feel her imagined weight there even now, pressing closely against her heart.

 

“What?” Scott begs, stepping forward and wrapping his hands firmly around her upper arms, gritting his teeth against his involuntary emotional response to touching her again.  He shakes her slightly, when she doesn’t immediately answer. “What, Tessa? Because whatever it was, _I_ didn’t say it.  I never got that message.”

 

“What?” she gasps, her voice an odd mix of shock and doubt.

 

“Whatever message you sent to me that day, I never got it, and whatever--Tessa, listen to me,” he says, his eyes boring into hers, intensely.  “Hear me, when I tell you, whatever it is you _think_ I said to you, it did not come from me.”

 

She hesitates, briefly, and then says, “Scott, I’ll be the first to admit you weren’t yourself after Sochi, but that does not excuse what you said to me--”

 

“No!  It _literally_ wasn’t me!” he interjects, growing even more frustrated.  He feels his hands tighten against her upper arms and has to consciously relax his grip so as not to hurt or alarm her.  “I never even knew for sure that you sent me a text until today, just now. But when you came to see me that day, it was like we’d already spoken, only we _hadn’t_.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re saying.  Scott, I don’t understand,” she replies, shaking her head, disbelief and confusion written clearly across her face.

 

“There was this woman.  I’m pretty sure her name was Lisa.  I don’t know if you remember her or not, but I’d been seeing her on and off for those last couple of months before you…” he pauses, finding it hard to say the words to her face for some reason, as if by saying them out loud he might cause her to vanish once again, evaporating into thin air right in front of him.  “Before you disappeared,” he finishes, his voice tight. He couldn’t call it leaving because that’s not what it’d been. She had disappeared. Period.

 

She shakes her head, having no idea who he’s talking about.  There’d been a seemingly endless parade of _not_ -girlfriends during that time period, interrupted only by an over-before-it-started relationship with Kaitlyn and...whatever that night between the two of them had been.

 

He shakes his head as if to say, _it doesn’t matter._  “Anyway, Danny showed up on my doorstep the same morning you came to see me.   _His_ Tessa had gotten a text from...well, she thought it was from me, saying that I didn’t want anything to do with her,” he rushes, leaving out the part about the baby because, though it was relevant, he felt like he could make his point without adding more salt to this already well-cured wound.  

 

His use of the phrase, ‘ _his Tessa’_ , in regard to Danny’s wife caused Tessa’s heart to clench in her chest, because it implied that she herself, then, was _Scott’s_ Tessa.  She tried to breathe around the uncomfortable lump in her throat and focus on what he was trying to say to her.

 

“I knew I hadn’t sent anything like that, and the only other person who had access to my phone that night was...this woman,” he finishes, uncomfortably, ashamed about the fact that the night Tessa had apparently discovered she was having his baby, he’d been shacked up with some lunatic who had no qualms about destroying innocent lives as long as she got what she wanted in the end.  He’d brought that person into Tessa’s life and fucked over both himself and Tess in the process. He lets his hands fall away from her arms and scrubs at his face, roughly, with the pads of his fingers, before letting them fall away and meeting her eyes once again.

 

“I confronted her, and she admitted to getting into my phone while I was asleep and intercepting my texts.  I thought she was just deleting them, mostly. I swear to God, Tessa, she never said anything...I never knew about any text from you.”  His eyes plead with hers. “When you showed up at my house that day, I just--I didn’t realize what you were asking. I didn’t know,” he finishes, and _know_ comes out as a half-swallowed sob.

 

His eyes are unnaturally bright, and she knows they mirror her own.

 

Suddenly, standing before her, is the fourteen year old boy who’d cried at the end of Moulin Rouge.  The one whose heart she’d known better than her own, once upon a time. Something clicks into place then and makes sense in a way that it never had before.  His reaction to her pregnancy had seemed so unlike him, so outside of who she’d always known him to be. The most devastating moment of her life comes back to her, and all at once she’s seeing it with fresh eyes.  

 

_I need to hear you say it.  That you...that you don’t want us._

 

_Tess, I can’t.  I’m not ready for this._

 

If he never got her text, then he wouldn’t have known she meant...he wouldn’t have realized she was… _oh, God_.  She feels everything inside of her slow to a sickening halt.

 

She pictures them standing there outside of his apartment that day, and she sees them as they’d truly been for the first time.  In that moment she’d been a girl suddenly aged into womanhood by the weight of a huge event in their lives, and he’d still been just a _guy_ , cluelessly trying to navigate _them_.

 

She looks at him now, at the man standing before her, eyes shining brightly with unshed tears.  His hair is a little longer than it used to be, and he’s filled out a little, in a way that flatters rather than detracts.  There are differences, for sure, but as she watches his face, his eyes, she knows that he’s the same. He’s the same Scott who’d given her a Marvin the Martian pillow and then shared it with her on those long car rides, the same Scott who’d left a giant bucket of rice on her doorstep to show her how far they’d come when she’d needed to hear it most, the same Scott who’d held her a million times in a million ways and never let her fall.  She has a sudden sinking feeling, realizing that if she’d stopped to think at all, if she’d stepped outside of her hurt and fear long enough to _really_ think about it, she would have realized the truth back then.  How could she not have? But then again, given the situation, how _could_ she have?  

 

It’s overwhelming to say the least, and utterly unfair, but either way, she realizes...

 

He really didn’t know.  All this time, he hadn’t known.

 

Her eyes fill to capacity then and overflow, sending twin teardrops racing down her cheeks, large and hot.  He steps forward as if to reach for her then, but she throws her hands up, palms out, giving him the universal symbol for _stop_.

 

“I can’t, Scott,” she manages to breathe out the words, but barely.

 

“Tessa--” he starts to argue, but she cuts him off.

 

“ _Scott_.  I’m not--I’m not going to disappear, but I...need time...to absorb this.”  Her insides are quivering, and she’s pretty sure the involuntary movement has translated into an audible waver in her voice.

 

“Okay,” he says.  She’s looking at him with liquid eyes and wet cheeks, but she’s standing here, she hasn’t run away.  He can’t ask anything else of her in this moment, so he just repeats, “Okay.”

 

She nods.

 

“Tessa?” he asks, his voice impossibly soft against the noisy backdrop of the storefront.

 

“Yeah?” she sounds dazed, war-ravaged.

 

He knows, he _knows_ but...he just needs to hear her say the words.  “I have a daughter?”

 

“You have a daughter,” she whispers in reply, lifting her shoulders in a heartbreakingly helpless gesture that’s half confusion, half apology.  

 

“We have a little girl,” he says, mostly to himself.  He’s still looking at her, but his eyes have gone glassy, turning inward.

 

“We have a little girl,” she affirms, and something inside of her shifts, and it feels both painful and necessary.  

 

She stumbles blindly toward the parking lot then, leaving him standing there on the sidewalk looking as dazed as she feels.  She has her cell phone in her hand and Sarah on speaker phone before she even reaches the car. For the second time in two days, she leaves the parking lot of JJ’s Fabric Emporium in tears and without the fabric she needs for work.

 

++++


	6. SIX

++++

  
  
  


Tessa sits in the cozy, sage colored glider in Annika’s room, her feet propped up on the matching footstool.  The room is small but stylishly decorated in shades of lilac, sage, and cream. There’s a window overlooking the street, and a soft glow emanates from the streetlamps below.  Tessa pushes against the footstool gently with her feet, maintaining a slow, steady rocking motion. Annika is resting against her chest, feet on either side of Tessa’s hips, drifting in and out of sleep, not fully ready to succumb to slumber just yet.  Tessa doesn’t mind though, she always savors this time of day, but tonight, especially, she needs the contact with her daughter. Annika’s weight is warm and reassuring against her, and she rubs her hand up and down her daughter’s back, providing comfort to them both.  Annika’s hand drifts sleepily toward her mouth, and Tessa intercepts it gently, kissing her pudgy pink fingers before tucking her arm against her side, carefully. She’s been trying to break her daughter’s habit of sucking her thumb in her sleep, but it’s been a slow process.  Annika shifts against her chest, rubbing her nose tiredly against the soft cotton of Tessa’s t-shirt before settling down once again.

 

Tessa presses her lips against Annika’s hair, softly, and hums into her silky, chestnut waves.

 

Kate had left a little while ago, having stayed just long enough to convince herself that Tessa was, in fact, okay.  Tessa had filled her mom in briefly when she got home about her run-in with Scott, unwilling to go into much detail, mainly because it was much easier to keep herself together when she  _ wasn’t _ talking about it.  Now though, in the safety of her quiet apartment, with only Annika for company, she reflects on the events of the day.

 

Seeing Scott had been a shock, to say the least.  She’d obviously been rattled by his sudden appearance at Cuppa Joe.  Of all the ways she’d imagined seeing him again, the idea of him just showing up at her favorite coffee spot one morning had not even been on her radar.  She fully understands why he felt like he had to come find her right away, though, given the information he’d shared with her today. 

 

She can’t believe he hadn’t known.  All these years she’d been so hurt and angry with him, and he’d had no idea.  He hadn’t abandoned her and Annika at all...it was actually  _ she _ who’d left  _ him _ .  

 

That’s a hard pill for her to swallow.  

 

In order to get herself together after their impromptu meeting, she’d needed an emergency session with Sarah, who had skipped lunch in order to squeeze her in at the last minute.  Her therapist had apparently recognized the panic in her voice as well as the rarity of the situation. Tessa did not tend toward the dramatic, and Sarah was well aware of that fact.  She had arrived at the office and immediately word-vomited the entire scene with Scott at the coffee shop to her very attentive therapist, and she thinks even Sarah had been shocked by his sudden reappearance in her life and the somewhat extraordinary circumstances in which she now finds herself.  It had taken her therapist several moments to gather her thoughts before replying. Sarah had reminded her that both she and Scott had been operating under the influence of false information, and that blame at this point really doesn’t serve a purpose and will only get in the way of making things right for Annika.  She also reminded her that it’s okay for her to feel however she feels. Tessa sometimes needs the reminder that her feelings are valid whether they are completely rational or not. 

 

She’s having a hard time now, blaming herself for not seeing the truth sooner.  She knows there’s no way she could have, and yet she feels like she  _ should _ have.  Sarah encouraged her not to dwell on her feelings of guilt, but to accept them for what they are, and to try to be kind and forgiving to herself going forward.

 

Most of the remainder of their session consisted of open-ended questions.  What did Tessa think of Scott’s story? Did she believe his version of events?  How did this knowledge make her feel? What does this mean for her and Annika, going forward? These are questions she’s perfectly capable of asking herself, and yet, after a session with Sarah, she always finds herself feeling better, more clear.

 

Tonight though...tonight she’s still feeling guilty and unsettled, and she thinks that will be the case for the foreseeable future.  Nearly everything she’d thought about Scott these past three years had been wrong, and everything she had imagined for herself and Annika and their immediate future seems up in the air now.

 

She knows she has to contact him sooner rather than later, so that he doesn’t panic.  He’d let her go today when she’d needed to, despite the fact that she’s sure that’d been difficult for him to do, given that she’d been unaccounted for, as far as he was concerned, for these past three years.  She’s  _ so _ nervous, though.  Even knowing that he’d been unaware of her pregnancy, which she’s still struggling to wrap her mind around, even though she  _ does _ believe him, she still has qualms about talking to him and seeing him again.  The two of them hadn’t been in a good place before she’d found out she was pregnant.  Hell, they hadn’t been in a good place before she’d  _ gotten _ pregnant.  She misses what they’d been to each other ages ago, but not what they’d been at the end, after Sochi.  It’s scary to think about going back there again. She knows she has to think about Annika though, and she knows without a doubt that having Scott in her life is what’s best for her daughter, whether it’s what’s best for Tessa or not.

 

She sighs heavily and reaches her left hand into the space between the arm of the glider and her thigh and feels around until she finds her phone.  She thumbs it to life and flips to her contacts. 

 

Scott’s name is still there, no longer number one on her speed dial, but safely ensconced amongst the M’s.  She opens a text message, and types--  _ Hey, it’s me.   _

 

Suddenly, she has a flash of how this whole mess got started, and she deletes the message without sending it.  Instead, she opens his contact screen again and taps the little telephone icon.

 

He answers on the second ring.  

 

“Hello?” his voice is expectant, nervous, and for a second Tessa can’t make herself speak.  “Hello?” he tries again, into the silence on the line. “Tessa?” he asks, quietly, and it’s this that finally gets her talking.

 

“Yeah, it’s me,” she says quietly, barely above a whisper.  Then, finding her voice, she adds more firmly. “Hey, Scott.”  She takes a deep, fortifying breath before continuing. “I um...I just wanted you to have my number, so you’d have a way to contact me, so you didn’t worry since...well, since you obviously didn’t have a way to get in touch with me before.”  She’s rambling, and she knows it, but she can’t help herself.

 

“Thank you,” he breathes, and she thinks he sounds relieved.

 

Her lips turn up a little at the corners, involuntarily, and she frowns when she realizes she’s smiling.

 

“You’re welcome.”  She goes quiet then, unsure what else to say.

 

“Hey Tessa, I know it’s a lot but...can I...can I see her?”  Tessa sucks in a breath, not really surprised, but still a little caught off guard by the request.  _  It’s too soon _ , she thinks, even though another part of her knows it’s really so tragically late.

 

He must’ve heard her inhale because he rushes to reassure her.  “You don’t have to tell her anything yet. I can...I can just be a...friend or…” he trails off, seemingly at a loss for what words to say that might convince her to let him see his child.

 

Her gut twists as Annika shifts sleepily against her chest, her pink cheek pressing heavily against Tessa’s breast in sleep.  She stares at her daughter’s long, dark lashes fanned against her baby soft skin, and she’s struck, suddenly, with a very vivid memory.

 

Scott’s head is cradled in her lap, his cheek resting against her belly.  His long lashes fan out against his cheeks. They’re in the backseat of a friend’s car, she thinks, and he’s about seventeen and sleeping off the last vestiges of a house party gone wrong.  She traces her finger along his eyebrows, the strong line of his nose, the curve of his lower lip, until he shifts, pressing his nose into the soft flesh just below her belly button. Her stomach does a celebratory somersault in response, and she closes her eyes, knowing her feelings are bad, bad,  _ bad _ for them.  That fact doesn’t keep the muscles in her abdomen from jumping every time his hot breath puffs against the thin material of her t-shirt though, and it doesn’t stop her fingers from snaking their way into his dark hair and scratching lightly against his scalp.

 

“Tessa?” he says, and she blinks, the memory falling away as she comes back to the present.  “Please, I--”

 

“You’re her Dad, Scott,” she says, her voice surprisingly steady.  “We’ll tell her you’re her Dad.”

She hears a quiet, choked noise on the other end of the line and for her own sanity she does not try to picture his face in this moment.  “She’s too little to know what it all means, anyway,” she continues, filling the silence, giving him a moment to collect himself if he needs it--she thinks he does.  “I...I don’t think you should come here though. I think it’s best if I come to you. For Annika, I mean. I think our space, mine and hers, should be our space while we sort all of this out.”  If he suspects that particular ground rule is more for her own peace of mind than for their daughter’s he doesn’t call her on it.

 

“Okay,” he agrees easily, his voice noticeably thicker, but steady nonetheless.  “Is tomorrow too soon?” 

 

She grits her teeth, fighting the urge to say that it’s definitely too soon.  “Tomorrow’s fine. I need to work for a few hours in the morning, but any time after one-thirty will work for me.  Is that okay?”

 

“Yeah.  Yes, that’s...tomorrow afternoon.  That’s great,” he says. “Thank you,” he adds after a beat.

 

“You’re welcome,” she answers, and then before she can say anything further Annika interrupts with a sleepy cry.  She fusses and shifts restlessly against Tessa, tucking her arms between them and turning her head to face the window.  “Shh,” Tessa murmurs, patting her bottom and resuming the gentle rocking that she’d abandoned at some point during her call to Scott.

 

Scott freezes when he hears the unmistakable sound of a child’s cry on the other end of the line.  He listens intently as Tessa makes soothing noises and the whimpers fade back into silence.  _ She’s right there _ , he thinks, and he almost asks Tessa to send him a picture, but something stops him.  As much as he wants to see her right this second, he doesn’t want the first time he sees his child to be in a photograph.   _ Tomorrow _ , he tells himself.   _ You’ll meet her tomorrow. _

 

“I better get her to bed,” he hears Tessa say quietly into his ear.  

 

“Yeah, of course,” he agrees.  “I’ll text you my address, if that’s okay.  Or...we could meet at my parents’ if you’d rather.”  He adds the last as an afterthought, not so much because he knows his parents are dying to meet his daughter nearly as much as he is, but because he thinks Tessa might be more comfortable meeting there, somewhere familiar.

 

“Um...your place is fine, I guess,” she replies, surprising him.  “You should get to meet her first, and I think introducing her to only one or two people at a time might be best.”  He hears shifting on the other end of the line, and he imagines her placing their daughter in her bed for the night.  “I don’t want to overwhelm her,” she adds, softly. “I think she’ll do okay, but she hasn’t really been around too many strangers.”  He hears her hesitate, and his heart breaks a little at her choice of words. “Not that...I mean, of course you’re not...um, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean…” finally, she trails off, uncomfortably.

 

“I know what you meant,” he says, trying to make the moment a little less awkward despite the quick flash of hurt and anger he still feels at the injustice of being a stranger to his own daughter.

 

He listens to her breathe for several seconds before saying, “Well, I guess I’ll let you go, so you can get her settled.  I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?”

 

“Yeah, tomorrow,” he hears her say, her nerves audible in her voice.

 

“Okay.  Goodnight, Tessa,” he says, and he’s struck by the words because they’re so familiar, but it’s been so long since he’s spoken them.

 

“Goodnight,” he hears, before the phone disconnects in his ear.  

 

The connection is lost, and for a second he feels panic rise up in his chest.  He takes a couple of steadying breaths, and then he hits the little plus sign in the corner of his phone’s display and chooses “add to existing contact”.  Even though her number had been disconnected, he’d never managed to bring himself to actually delete her from his contacts. He saves her new number and stares at it for several seconds, before dropping his phone onto the couch beside him.

 

He’s going to meet his daughter tomorrow.  He continues to breathe deeply through the constricted feeling in his chest, and glances at the clock on the wall.  Eight-thirty PM. In less than twenty-four hours, he’s going to meet his daughter for the first time. He’s nervous...but excited, too.

 

He smiles to himself for the first time in what feels like ages.

 

++++

 

Tessa pulls to a stop in front of a beautifully reworked craftsman-style cottage.  There’s a two-car garage and floor to ceiling windows in front, and she finds herself checking the address a second time.  This is not the home of post-Sochi Scott Moir...this is the home of a Scott Moir she does not know the first thing about. This is a home for a family.  She wonders if he’s seeing someone, if this is some kind of shared vision with some woman she doesn’t know. What if he’s planning to get married? She’d suffered through plenty of girlfriends during their time as partners, and that was one thing, but the idea of handing her daughter over to Scott and some stranger for visitation has her stomach in knots.  She’s fully prepared to put the car in reverse when she sees the front door open and Scott step out onto the front porch. 

 

He must have been watching for them.

 

She sighs, resignedly, and kills the engine.  

 

He raises his hand in greeting and she does the same, before glancing in the rearview mirror.  Annika is asleep in her carseat, head tilted drunkenly to one side. Both of her feet are bare, her shoes and socks strewn about the backseat.  This is a new trick she’s learned recently, removing her socks and shoes at every opportunity. 

 

Tessa looks back at Scott and her heart squeezes in her chest.  He’d started toward them and then stopped about halfway across his front yard, seemingly unable to move any further.  He’s just standing there...waiting.

 

Unable to deny him this moment any longer, Tessa grabs the door handle and pushes her car door open, standing gracefully.  She moves to the rear, driver’s side door and opens it, careful not to startle her sleeping daughter. She reaches into the floorboard and grabs the white, Adidas backpack she carries for Annika.  She doesn’t really carry a diaper bag anymore, but this one has a change of clothes, a spare sippy cup, some snacks, and a handful of pull-ups. The last is just for naps and nighttime, as Annika is mostly potty-trained at this point, thankfully.

 

Quickly, Tessa stuffs Annika’s stray shoes and socks into the outer pocket of the backpack and slings it over her shoulder.  With a practiced hand, she unclips her daughter’s safety restraints and lifts her sleeping form from the carseat. Immediately, the girl turns her face into her mother’s neck, blocking the fading afternoon sunlight from her sleepy eyes.  Once Tessa has Annika settled comfortably against her shoulder, she reaches in and grabs her sippy cup. It’s her favorite, purple with giraffes on it. Experience has taught her that as soon as she’s fully awake, it’s the first thing her daughter will ask for.

 

As prepared as she can be, she closes her eyes for a brief second, draws in a deep breath, and turns, shutting the car door and heading toward where Scott still stands, immobile, in his front yard.

 

Scott watches her cross the yard, moving toward him, and his heart thumps wildly in his chest.  He takes in the sleeping child draped over Tessa’s shoulder, and he can’t reconcile the image with the truth.  That’s Tessa’s daughter,  _ his _ daughter.  He keeps trying to convince himself but it’s like his brain is refusing to compute new information right this moment.

 

She comes to a stop a few feet in front of him, and stands there.  She seems unsure, and he’s certain her heart must be beating as erratically as his own right now.  He finds himself reaching out to touch his daughter’s hair. He hesitates with his hand hovering just above the crown of her head.  His eyes flick to Tessa. She doesn’t respond to his silent question, but she doesn’t pull away either. He takes this as a sign of permission and settles his palm against his daughter’s dark hair.  It’s soft and silky, and his eyes close involuntarily against the sudden burn behind his eyelids. Pulling away from her is one of the hardest things he’s ever done in his life, but he manages to let his hand slip from her tiny head as he takes a step back, motioning toward the door.

 

He can’t bring himself to speak, but thankfully, Tessa just nods and follows him inside.  He thinks she’s struggling with her own emotions, if the look on her face is any indication.  

 

They are both painfully aware of all the ways in which they’ve been wronged and all the ways in which they’ve wronged each other.  The weight of those offences is a heavy burden to bear, and they move slowly, painfully under that oppressive load, silent, heads down, like two abused dogs creeping warily along side each other, crouched, tails tucked between their legs.  

 

Once they’re inside the house he leads her to the large living room that sits to the left of the front door.  Inside, the floor to ceiling windows provide a lot of natural light, and the room is sun-filled and pleasantly warm.  He watches Tessa take a seat on the couch, her back to the windows. The late afternoon sunlight cocoons the two most significant females in his life, the mother of his child and his daughter, and he can’t look away.  

 

_ Madonna and child _ , he thinks, and his palm itches to retrieve his phone and take a picture.  He resists the urge and instead watches as Tessa lets the white backpack she’s carrying slip from her shoulder and places the purple cup she’s clutching in her right hand on the floor beside her.

 

He finds himself unsure if he should venture closer or give her some space.  Just as he’s thinking that he should offer her a drink or something to buy himself some time to figure out what his next move should be, she tilts her head in a way that says,  _ come here _ .

 

She pats the empty cushion to her right.  Her eyes are wary, but she seems certain.

 

He moves toward them, and sits in the space she’s indicated.  It’s his house but this is entirely her show. He’ll play it however she wants to, however she thinks is best for their daughter.  

 

Once he’s seated she shifts the sleeping girl until she’s cradled in her left arm, facing him.  He doesn’t breathe for several seconds, merely stares at the tiny version of Tessa asleep in her arms.  There is absolutely no doubt about it, this is Tessa’s daughter, one-hundred percent. He’d watched this identical sleeping face a hundred times, a thousand times, in his life.  He blinks against the persistent burning in his nose and behind his eyelids, willing himself not to lose it. He bows his head and does his best to swallow the painful sob that’s struggling to free itself from his chest.  Through vision blurred with tears, he watches his right hand reach out to clasp his daughter’s bare foot, careful so as not to wake her. He can’t explain the way he’s compelled to do it, he just knows he needs the contact with her like he needs to breathe.  His chest spasms hard and he coughs quietly to alleviate some of the pressure there.

 

He feels a tear slip down his nose and then drop wetly onto his forearm, and he hears Tessa draw in a ragged breath.

 

“Scott,” he hears her croak, her voice a strained whisper.  He looks up at her then and something in his expression must convey all that he’s feeling in this moment, because her face crumples in response.  She doesn’t say anything. What could she possibly say?  _ There are no words for this _ , he thinks.  He feels her hand land on his back though, between his shoulder blades.  It slips upward until it comes to rest on the back of his neck. When he feels her slight tug, he allows his head to fall forward until his forehead comes to rest against her collar bone.  He can feel her uneven breathing, her ragged exhales puffing against his ear, and he feels a bone-deep need to comfort her, just as she’s doing for him.

 

He slips his left hand up the length of her back, his palm mapping the long line of her spine.  When his hand sets up a soothing rhythm against her skin, shifting up and down along the smooth plane of her back, he knows the contact is just as much for him as it is for her.  They stay like that for several minutes, not saying anything, just trying to reign in their emotions.

 

Finally, he lifts his head and whispers, “She’s beautiful Tess.  I can’t believe how beautiful she is.” 

 

Tessa sniffles and draws back to look at him.  Her eyes are bright green and red-rimmed and just as gorgeous as he remembers.  He moves his left hand from its place against her back and uses it to wipe the tears from her cheeks.  He hasn’t touched her in three years, outside of yesterday in the parking lot of the coffee shop, but somehow sitting here with their daughter between them it feels okay to be doing this.  

 

She doesn’t pull away, just closes her eyes at the first touch of his skin on hers, but he pulls away when he sees the way her chin quivers and her back straightens in response to the gentle contact.  He doesn’t want to make this harder for her. He’s trying to comfort her, not make her more upset.

 

When his hand falls away from her skin, Tessa takes a shaky breath and makes herself meet his eyes again.  Having Scott this close is overwhelming. Combined with the emotional weight of this moment, it’s almost unbearable, in fact, but she’s finally sitting here with him, introducing him to his daughter, something she’d thought would never happen.  She will not let this moment be sad and mired down with whatever baggage they have between them. It’s too important.

 

“She really is perfect, isn’t she?” she says, softly, lovingly.

 

Scott nods, asking, “What’s she like, T?  Tell me about her. I want to know everything.”  He’s still holding onto Annika’s bare foot, and Tessa finds herself nearly unable to look away from the unfamiliar phenomenon.  There’s something profoundly right about it, she thinks.

 

“She’s been such a good baby, Scott,” Tessa gushes, full of maternal pride.  She feels a sudden compulsion to share it with him, so that he can feel it, too.  She wants so badly for him to feel as proud as she does of this sweet little soul the two of them created.  She’d thought she’d let those hopes and dreams die three years ago, but in this moment, watching him tearfully stroke his thumb along the perfect line of their daughter’s tiny, pink toes, she finds that she wants more than anything for him to love Annika as fiercely as she does.  “She’s sweet and outgoing,” she begins, determined to help him see just how amazing their baby girl is. “She’s like you in that way, more than me,” she adds, and he smiles at that, a watery yet genuine smile. “And she has this laugh that’s just the  _ best _ .  I can’t wait for you to hear it.”  Those last words surprise her, but she finds that they’re true.  She  _ really _ wants to share Annika with him.  It’s as if something she’d mourned and moved on from had suddenly been gifted back to her the moment he laid eyes on their child, and she supposes, in a way, it has.  

 

The thought of physically sharing Annika with him, of being away from her daughter for any length of time is still terrifying, and she’s only just beginning to absorb what that will entail, but she’d resigned herself to the fact that she would never share this with anyone, that no one would ever love her daughter as wholly as she does.  So, having the chance to share Annika’s life with the one other person in the world who played a part in making her is...everything.

 

She knows her eyes are shining with tears again, and she tries to smile through them.

 

Scott smiles back at her through tears of his own and asks softly, hopefully, “What’s her name?  My dad said you call her Annika, but…” he trails off, hopefully.

 

Dread blooms in the pit of her stomach.  She knows what he’s asking, how important the Moir name is to Scott, to his family, and she knows he’s not going to like her answer. 

 

“Her name is Annika Virtue,” she replies, softly, the vaguest note of apology slipping into her voice.  “Annika Jordan Alma...Virtue,” she finishes, and waits quietly for him to process that bit of information.

 

As she watches the muscle in his jaw clench, she wonders if the tentative sense of connection she’d begun to feel with him had been premature.

  
  
  


++++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hold onto your hats, guys...this moment isn't over. Scott still hasn't even actually MET Annika yet. :)


	7. SEVEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One Where Scott Meets His Daughter

++++

  
  


Annika Jordan Alma  _ Virtue _ .  

 

Not Moir.  

 

He’d expected as much, given the circumstances, but still he’d hoped.  He can feel his jaw clenching, and he tries to reign in his temper. His eyes flick to Tessa’s face and he can see trepidation creeping into her eyes.  It’s been three years, but he knows her in a way that doesn’t just cease to exist when some time passes. This is the look she gets when she’s nervous and dreading what’s about to come.  It’s the same one he’d witnessed when Marina was about to comment on her weight or her lack of grace, and she knew it was coming. The one that crept into her eyes when her calves started to tingle ominously, and she knew exactly what it meant.  Seeing that look on her face now, knowing she’s dreading his next action, his next words, has him feeling like shit. 

 

This situation is not her fault, he knows, and it really pisses him off that either of them have been put in this position.

 

He’d missed the first two-and-a-half years of his daughter’s life, not to mention the past three years of Tessa’s.  The two of them had rarely spent a week apart in the seventeen plus years they’d known each other before all of this happened and now they have a gulf between them the size of a small country.  He’ll admit they weren’t in a good place in 2015, but they would have never fallen this far apart on their own. He knows himself too well, and he knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that he couldn’t have shut Tessa out forever.  He might have tried, but he would have failed, and Tessa would have forgiven him, he knows, because that’s just who she is. Even now, she’s sitting here, quietly staring at him with solemn eyes, waiting for him to say whatever awful thing he needs to say to her to blow off steam.  

In the past, he would have, too.  He would have said whatever heat-of-the-moment thing he needed to say, and she would have listened.  She would have listened, taken it into herself until it was a part of her, like all of the other parts in the deep, dark ocean that is Tessa Virtue’s heart, and then she would have said something brilliant and maybe a little sharp (just to let him know he wasn’t totally getting away with being an ass), and definitely witty, and then she would have bumped his shoulder with her smaller one until his mouth quirked up at one corner because fuck if he could ever stay truly mad at her...and that would’ve been that.

 

That’s not who he is anymore though.  If the years without her had taught him nothing else, they’d taught him all the ways he’d failed her in the past.  It was a lesson he’d learned well as he’d gone over and over and  _ over _ memories of their partnership/friendship(/relationship?) after she’d disappeared.  So, instead of irrationally attacking her for not giving their daughter his name when she’d been under the false impression that he had no interest in her, he says,”It’s beautiful, Tessa.  My mom will be so happy.” And he means it.

 

He can tell by the look on her face, that this is not the response she was expecting, and he’s a little proud of himself for rising above his baser instinct to lash out like a child.  He is still angry, just not at Tessa. It’s more that he’s angry at the situation...and also at some half-forgotten woman from his past whom he’s positive would be fully-forgotten if not for her unbelievable and inexcusable actions.  

 

Suddenly something he’d wondered about since his conversation with Tessa yesterday comes back to him, and before he can censor his words, he asks, “What did she say to you that night?”

 

She watches him rise suddenly to his feet and shove both hands through his hair, roughly, the movement fraught with tension.  For a moment, Tessa is tempted to pretend she doesn’t know what he’s asking about. She’s tempted to say,  _ What did who say, your mom?  _  But, surprised though she might have been by his very mature reaction to finding out his only child does not, in fact, share his surname, she  _ knows _ Scott in a way she’s realizing did not fade with time.  Being in his presence, even for this brief period of time, she can tell that she’s still connected to him in some way, besides the obvious connection that Annika now provides.  He’s changed, his unexpected reaction just moments ago proves that, but the two of them share one wavelength, forged by years of shared experience and intense circumstances and emotional entanglement, and that connection remains unimpeded by time and distance.  So, she knows exactly to what and whom he’s referring, and it’s the one question she’d been more than happy to avoid answering when he’d tracked her down yesterday.

 

_ “When I texted you the night before, after I took the test, and you sa--you said…” _

 

_ “What?  What, Tessa?  Because whatever it was, I didn’t say it.  I never got that message.” _

 

_ “What?” _

 

_ “Whatever message you sent to me that day, I never got it, and whatever--Tessa, listen to me, hear me when I tell you, whatever it is you think I said to you, it did not come from me.” _

 

He’d gone on to explain about some very poor decision-making on his part regarding his dating life that had resulted in the raging dumpster fire of a misunderstanding that had followed, and she’d been able to avoid saying the words she dreaded repeating more than any others.

 

“What did she say to you?” he prompts again.

 

She steels herself, whispers the words she’s never repeated until just now, “She said that I should take care of it.”  She can feel that her green eyes are shimmering with moisture, most likely overly-bright and shining, but there’s little she can do to hide it.  “And I thought it was you, that you wanted me to…” she trails off, looking down at Annika, her fingers worrying the soft hem of her daughter’s faded denim shorts.

 

“Son of a--” she hears him swear, the expletive cutting off abruptly, and she moves her eyes up to his face.

 

He’s staring at Annika, something akin to physical pain maring his boyishly handsome features.  His eyes flick to hers, and she watches his expression turn guilty again.

 

“Tessa,” he groans, and it’s a long, drawn out, painful thing.  She’s crying again, and he wonders if she even realizes it yet. Moving on instinct, he drops to his knees on the floor directly in front of her.  He palms her cheeks in both of his hands and tilts her head forward until her forehead comes to rest lightly against his own. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.  “I’m so sorry.”

 

He hears a small, strangled sound come from the back of her throat and feels her shake her head against his.  “It’s not your fault,” he hears her whisper. “But I’m sorry, too...I should have--”

 

“No...don’t apologize for this...for her,” he says, firmly.  “Not for any part of it,” he adds. 

 

“That’s not what I--” she cuts herself off, shaking her head again, her forehead lifting slightly off of his until he can see her wide green eyes.  “There’s a lot to unpack here, eh?” she whispers, smiling shakily through this newest round of tears. The smile doesn’t reach her eyes, but he can tell she’s trying.  “But let’s not do this today, okay? Let’s just...let’s just focus on right now, for now, alright?”

 

He starts to protest, and she must be able to see it in the look on his face, because she preempts him.  “Please, Scott,” she requests, but he hears the command in her voice as well. “Another time. Just not today.  Today, let’s just focus on Annika.” 

 

“Yeah,” he nods.  “Yeah, okay, you’re right.  There’ll be time right?” he asks, waiting for her to nod in reply.   _ There’ll be time.   _ For them to apologize, for them to talk, for them to...whatever.  She’s home now, and there’ll be time. He closes his eyes and let’s his hands slip from her cheeks.  They come to rest on her knees instead. He’s still kneeling in front of her, and his eyes drift back down to the little girl sleeping in Tessa’s arms.  “Annika,” he says softly, and the name  _ feels _ special in his mouth.  He’s never known an Annika before...except Tess.  He smiles, suddenly unable to suppress it. “Do you know what an “Annika” is according to Urban Dictionary?” he asks.

 

He watches her face go blank, most likely panicking that she’s committed some horrific social faux pas by naming their child after the slang term for an obscure sexual favor or something.  He bumps his fist playfully, comfortingly against her knee. “An “Annika” is a rare and beautiful girl, someone special that you only find once in a lifetime, if you’re lucky.”  _ Or maybe, twice _ , he thinks, taking in the two females before him--if you’re the absolute luckiest man on the planet, which he thinks he just might be.  “They say finding her is magic, like finding a unicorn.”

 

Tessa smiles beautifically, relieved, and, he thinks, maybe a little enchanted by his revelation.  “I think you chose, wisely, Kiddo.”

 

She barks out a tiny laugh, prompted by an unexpected sense of relief.  

 

_ Kiddo. _

 

His use of that particular nickname sends a sense of well-being coursing through her body, bringing with it a warmth that flows into her long-cold extremities all the way to her toes and the tips of her fingers.  She’d never wanted to be angry with Scott. She’d never wanted to be apart from him. He’d been her best friend, her  _ best _ friend, for most of her life and she’s missed him over the last three (four) years.  Maybe they can find their way back to that closeness again? Back to what they’d shared before all of this confusion, before she got pregnant, before they screwed everything up by falling into bed together.  Sitting here with him now she thinks maybe... 

 

Impulsively, Tessa bends forward and presses her lips to Annika’s forehead.  “Anna,” she whispers, gently. “Wake up, sweet girl.” She kisses her daughter’s nose, lightly, and then her cheeks and chin.  Annika shifts against her and stretches. Tessa lifts her daughter into a sitting position, allowing her legs to drape across her lap, and her head to rest on her chest.  

 

Annika smiles, sleep drunk, eyes still closed, slowly re-entering the waking world.  She slips her thumb into her mouth before Tessa can catch it, and just this once, she decides to let it go.  She watches her baby’s eyelids flutter and blink twice before opening fully, and she knows immediately that Scott is watching, too, because she hears him gasp, softly, from his place on the floor directly in front of her.  

 

She knows.  Those eyes have killed her every day for two-and-a-half years.

 

She knows they’re killing him right now.  

 

Annika is eyeing him, suspiciously, unaccustomed to waking with an unfamiliar person so nearby.  She’s curious by nature though, and Tessa isn’t surprised when she doesn’t cry, merely stares at him, sucking her thumb, contentedly.

 

“Annika,” Tessa says, softly.  “This is Daddy,” she says, placing her hand on Scott’s shoulder, not stopping to question the wisdom of the unnecessary contact.  Her breath hitches and she can feel hot tears on her cheeks for the millionth time today. These are happy tears though, so she doesn’t try to wipe them away, just lets them fall, unchecked.  “Can you say, hi?” she asks, sweetly. “Hi Daddy,” Tessa says, waving at Scott, encouraging Annika to do the same.

 

Annika grins, widely, waving at Scott, happy to play along.  “Hi Daddeeee!” she parrots, completely unaware of the significance of her words, of this moment.

 

Tessa watches Scott’s face as he hears those words for the first time.  “Hi, baby,” he whispers, softly, in reply. Slowly his eyes shift from Annika’s face to Tessa’s, he looks into her eyes and she watches his fill to overflowing.  He’s biting his lip, and she can tell he’s fighting so hard not to break apart in front of their daughter. She makes a split second decision. Leaning forward into his space, she reaches up and slips her right arm over his shoulder, curling it until the crook of her elbow wraps around the back of his neck.  She tugs him forward until his chin rests on her right shoulder and her cheek is pressed against his. She holds onto him, tightly, whispering, “ _ Shh _ ” and “ _ I know _ ” and “ _ It’s okay, I’m here _ ” just like she would for their daughter, and he cries like she’s never heard him cry before.

 

She cries with him, overwhelmed by a devastating mixture of happiness and sadness.  At some point she feels his arms slip around her, until he’s holding both her and Annika against his chest, his hand stroking comfortingly along her spine for the second time today.  Time passes slowly, and by the time Annika protests their strange behavior, arching to be free of the confining space between them, it’s hard to tell who’s been comforting who. 

 

“Juice!” Annika demands, loudly, in the acceptably self-absorbed way that only a toddler can get away with.

 

Scott pulls back first, laughing despite his red-rimmed eyes and the obvious wetness on his cheeks.  “You want this?” he asks, picking up the purple, giraffe-covered sippy cup from the floor beside Tessa’s foot.

 

Annika reaches out and takes the cup in two pudgy hands, before tipping her head back and drinking greedily, all the while giving Scott side-eyes.  

 

Tessa sniffles and clears her throat, ignoring the fact that she probably has mascara smeared all over her face at this point.  “Can you say thank you?” she ask her daugher, bouncing her slightly on her knees. 

 

Annika shifts her eyes to Tessa and then back to Scott.  She keeps drinking her juice.

 

“We’re still working on that one,” Tessa says, chuckling and shrugging her shoulders as if to say,  _ what can ya do? _

 

“I think you’re doing a great job, Tess,” he says, and his tone is light but his hazel-brown eyes are solemn and sincere.  He’s still sitting very close to her, and her heart gives a painful thump as if someone has just defibrillated it back to life from a flatline.

 

“Thank you,” she says, a bit shakily.  Those words mean more to her than he’ll probably ever know.

 

His hand touches the back of hers, softly.  “Can you stay?” he asks, and he must see the way his words cause her to still because he rushes to add, “For dinner, I mean?  Can you guys stay for dinner?”

 

She relaxes.  “Yeah, we can stay,” she says.

 

By the time they leave Scott’s house that night, she and Annika are both well fed, it’s fully dark outside, and something in her very being has relaxed for the first time in three (four?) years.

  
  


++++


	8. EIGHT

++++

  
  


As Scott unloads the dishwasher the following morning he relives the night before.  He puts away three plates, two full-sized, ceramic ones and one smaller, plastic one that he’d managed to fish from the back of his kitchen cabinet.  He runs his finger along the edge of the small, plastic plate before placing it, purposefully, on top of the stack of ceramic dishes near the front of the cabinet.  

 

He’d ended up serving Tessa and Annika baked chicken breasts with cheesy rice and broccoli, something simple and bland that Tessa had assured him Annika would eat, and they’d shared his previously unused dining room table like an actual family.  His eyes had stayed glued to his daughter and her mother the entire time. Tessa had held Annika on her lap, since he obviously didn’t own a high chair or booster seat of any kind. She’d managed to feed both herself and their daughter like a pro, with minimal effort and surprisingly little mess.  Annika had babbled happily, seemingly unfazed by his sudden appearance in her life. He’d managed to understand a large portion of her chatter, and Tessa had interpreted most of what he’d been unable to decipher on his own. He’d felt guilty at first about those few instances where he couldn’t understand her words, but less so after twice witnessing Tessa merely shrug her shoulders and shake her head as if to say, w _ho knows?_

 

After dinner they’d moved back into the living room, and Scott had managed to coax Annika into playing with him by producing an empty laundry basket, a large metal pot, and two drum sticks.  He’d needed to improvise due to his complete lack of any type of toddler-friendly toys or games. And so, a very loud round of “drums” had erupted and then morphed into a wild game of Red-Light-Green-Light, wherein Tessa gave the color-coded traffic commands, and Scott slid Annika around the living room floor at breakneck speeds, pretending to “drive” her in the empty laundry basket.  Scott’s portion of the game was complete with outrageous impressions of revving motors, honking horns, squealing brakes, and occasional police sirens. Tessa protested the last, halfheartedly, telling him that he was teaching their daughter bad habits by letting her speed and attract law enforcement. To this, he’d raised a brow, as they both know she is the one most likely to speed, between the two of them.  She’d nodded her acceptance of this truth, but reminded him that she usually has a tiny passenger with her these days that keeps her obeying traffic laws a little more diligently than she once had.

 

Scott had looked down at Annika then, and she’d looked up at him, expectantly, and smiled.  Totally charmed, he’d grinned at Tessa and torn off for another lap around the sectional sofa.  Annika had shrieked in delight, tipping backwards slightly in the basket with the forward momentum.  Her little hands had clung to the basket’s edges, and her baby-fine hair had lifted in the manufactured breeze.  Scott had been forced to stop momentarily, when her sweet little chuckles had turned into a deep belly laugh that had her body bouncing, uncontrollably with glee.  

 

“ _That’s_ the laugh,” Tessa had said, smiling and pointing at Annika.  “The one I was telling you about. Pretty great, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah,” he’d breathed, both delighted and moved in a way he couldn’t have articulated if he’d tried.  He felt like his soul had broken open in response to that deliriously happy sound emanating from his baby girl.  

 

Something from his childhood came back to him as he’d sat listening to her gleeful peals of laughter.  A line from a storybook...

 

 _When the first baby laughed for the first time, its_ _laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies._

 

He’d pictured the empty bedroom upstairs then, the one just down the hall from his own, with the window seat and the built-in bookshelves.  In his mind, a tiny canopied bed appeared in the center of the far wall, the walls themselves began to glow a pale pink and were, suddenly, inexplicably adorned with framed pictures of Tinkerbell.  

 

Before he’d gone to sleep last night, he’d dug into the the trunk in the attic, the one that holds all of the things from his childhood that his mother had saved for him, and he’d pulled out a worn, well-loved copy of J. M. Barrie’s _Peter Pan_ and placed it on the bookshelf in the empty room.

 

 _For Annika_ , he’d thought, satisfied.

 

She’s the best two-year-old he’s ever been around.  He’s convinced of this fact. He loves his nieces and nephews, but he’s pretty sure that between he and his brothers, he wins.  Yep, he’s _positive_ that he’s won the kid lotto, because his daughter is beautiful and smart and sweet and just...well, pretty close to perfect.  

 

He places the pans he’d used to prepare their meal into the wide drawer below the double oven and remembers the dinner conversation he’d shared with Tessa while their daughter shoved chunks of chicken and broccoli into her mouth, her tiny hands covered with stray pieces of sticky rice.

 

_“So, my Dad said you’ve been going by McCormick?”_

 

_“Only for work.  I’ve put together a small fashion line, and my label is under the name Tessa McCormick.  Legally, I’m still Tessa Virtue, though.”_

 

_“Oh, okay, that makes sense...I just wondered since, you know...you said Annika’s name is Virtue.”_

 

_“Are you upset with me about that?”_

 

_“No.  I mean, obviously, I don’t like that she doesn’t have my name, but I understand why you wouldn’t have listed me as her father, given everything that happened.  I guess I was just more worried about her not having either of our names. Honestly, I mostly just hate the idea of her having “father unknown” printed on her birth certificate.  I...she’s mine, you know? Ours. And I hate that I’m just a blank space in her life.”_

 

_“You’re not a blank space in her life, Scott.  Not legally, and not in any other way now, either.  And I wouldn’t have done that, I wouldn’t have listed her father as “unknown”.  I was angry with you, and I might’ve...to punish you, three years ago, I might have done that to you, but I wouldn’t have done it to her.  She deserves the truth, always, and I never would have kept your identity from her when she was old enough to know. You’re listed as her father on her birth certificate, I just chose not to give her your last name.  I didn’t want her to be confused by it when she was too young to know the full story...or whatever gentle version of it I could bring myself to tell her someday.”_

 

He’d practically wilted with relief at that revelation.  Annika was his, legally, even if she didn’t share his name.  The knowledge was comforting in a way he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t as if he feared that Tessa was going to abscond with his child now that he understood all that had taken place to prompt her to leave in the first place.  Knowing that he has a legal claim on their daughter though, has set him a little more at ease, especially since he has no claim on Tessa anymore. Not that he ever _really_ had, in any formal or legal sense, anyway.  She’d been his partner for so many years though, and that had seemed binding at the time.  But he’d always known there was an expiration date on that partnership, and he knows that’s what a large portion of his post-Sochi struggle had been...dealing with the fear of losing the most constant person in his life.  He’d never had any doubt that once they moved on from competitive skating she’d be successful in whatever venture she cast her heart into. He hadn’t been as sure about himself though. He hadn’t known if he could make it on his own, as just Scott Moir, without Tessa Virtue at his side.

 

He thinks now about all the wasted time and unnecessary heartache between them.  In the end, they had both done okay when the chips were down and they were left completely on their own.  She had started a successful fashion line under her own label all while raising a child on her own, and even though he’d struggled a lot and been a generally unhappy person in her absence, he had eventually managed to successfully coach a brilliant up-and-coming ice dance pair, and he knows there’s more work where that came from, if and when he wants it.  Financially and career-wise, they’re both doing fine.

 

He knows he could use some work on his personal life though.  He knows it’s time for him to get his life together, to stop moping around and leaving his family to worry about his emotional, and sometimes physical, well-being.  Maybe he’d had trouble doing it for himself, but just as he’d always been able to rise to the occasion for Tess, he knows that he will do the same for Annika. He’s going to get his shit together for her, and she will never have to worry about a lack of support from him.  He thinks if she wanted to go to the moon tomorrow, he’d start looking into the cost of rocket ships.

 

He smiles, goofily, at himself and shakes his head.   _What a difference a day makes_ , he thinks, and shoves a handful of silverware into their appropriate slots in the drawer below the coffee pot before turning to retrieve the last item from the dishwasher.  He lifts a small, pink, sippy cup into his hand and turns it, so that he can see the parade of dancing elephants that circle it, holding onto each other, trunks to tails. They vary in sizes.   _Mommies and daddies and babies_ , he thinks, and smiles to himself.  Last night he’d walked Tessa to her car and watched her buckle Annika into her carseat.  His daughter had waved sleepily from her seat, and he’d watched her rub her eyes in the soft glow provided by the SUV’s dome light.  As he’d stood there, knowing he should step back and let them get on their way, hesitating because watching them drive away was going to be so incredibly hard, Tessa had dug into the white backpack she’d brought with them, coming up with the extra cup.  She’d looked at him with something akin to pity in her eyes, no doubt in response to what he presumes had been a look of utter devastation on his face. She’d handed him the cup and smiled softly. “For Daddy’s house,” she’d said, and it’d felt like a promise.

 

He’d hugged her then, and he hopes he hadn’t crossed any lines because he hadn’t stopped to seek her permission, he’d just tugged her slender wrist and gathered her into his arms, holding her there, tightly, as he’s done a thousand times before.  She’d stiffened a little at first, but just as he’d contemplated pulling away, she’d relaxed and fitted herself into his embrace. They’d stood there in the dark, next to her car, and just breathed together, syncing rhythms as if they’d just done so the day before instead of more than three years ago.  “Thank you,” he’d whispered, fiercely, into the curve of her neck. For everything, he’d meant. For the cup, for Annika, for bringing her to meet him, for forgiveness when he’s still not sure that he fully deserves it. He’d felt her nod against him, but she’d remained silent, simply holding him a little tighter in response.  When they’d stepped back from each other he thinks her cheeks might’ve been slightly pinker than they had been just moments before. It had been hard to tell in the low light from the SUV’s interior. He didn’t miss the way she’d kept her eyes averted from his face, though, as she’d backed toward the open driver’s side door, or the fact that she banged her elbow on the steering wheel in her haste to make a speedy exit.  

 

“Text me when you’re home, so I know you made it there safely,” he’d requested as he’d stood, holding onto her open door.

 

“Okay,” she’d breathed, flicking her eyes to his for the briefest moment of contact before turning and busying herself with starting the car and tugging her seatbelt into place.  Once she was settled, he’d gently shut her car door and stepped back to watch them go.

 

She’d kept her word, texting him a little over two hours later.   _We’re home_ , is all it said, but it was enough.  They were safe, and he could sleep.

 

He opens the upper cabinet to the left of the sink and places the tiny, pink sippy cup right in the front next to a short stack of plastic Maple Leafs cups he’d collected from various games and a set of four Tiffany tumblers which had been a housewarming gift from his cousin.  The tiny cup looks right at home, sitting there amongst his things, he thinks, staring at the bit of pink amongst a sea of blue and white and shiny glass.

 

He sighs out loud.  He definitely needs to make some changes in his life, starting with this house, he decides.  He swipes his phone from the counter and thumbs it open, scrolling through his recent calls and selecting the second one from the top.

 

“Hey Mom, it’s me.  I need your help with something,” he says, as soon as she picks up.

 

++++

 

A short while later, Scott finds himself once again at his mother’s familiar kitchen table.  Alma pours them both a cup of coffee and then makes her way over to sit across from him, setting a steaming mug next to his folded hands, before taking her seat.  “So, how did it go?” she asks, but he knows what she’s really asking.

 

“She’s incredible, Mom,” he says, telling her what she’s really dying to hear, the details she’s been waiting for about her granddaughter.  “She’s beautiful and smart and funny and... _God_ , I love her Mom.  I--already, I love her.  I can’t even believe how much,” he says.  It’s all come out in a rush, and he knows his eyes are shining, but he can barely contain the joy he feels just thinking about his and Tessa’s daughter.  “And Tess,” he adds, because he knows his mom has missed her nearly as much as he has. “She’s so different. I mean, she’s the same, she’s still...Tess,” he says, an odd pause where he’d caught himself just before saying _she’s still_ _my Tess_.  “But...I don’t know.  She’s a _mom_ , you know?” he asks his mother, hoping she gets what he’s struggling to say.

 

She takes his hands from across the table.  “She’s the mother of your child, Scotty. I’d imagine, you’ll feel a little differently about the woman she is now, than you did about the girl she was when she left here three years ago.  You’ve both grown up quite a bit, I’d guess, but you’re right...she’s still her, just like you’re still you. All of your history is still there. It’s gonna take some time to reach a new normal, for both of you.”

 

He thinks about his mother’s words and decides she’s right.  “Seeing her as a mother is…” his voice trails off. It’s so many things.  Powerful, moving, surprising, entertaining, painful, exciting...unbelievable.  “It’s really something,” he settles on, comfortable in the knowledge that his mom can read him pretty easily after thirty years and will know by his tone all that those words are struggling to encompass.  “Annika called me Daddy, last night, Mom,” he says, and there’s reverent awe in his voice that’s audible even to his own ears. “Tess woke her up, and told her _say hi to Daddy_ , and she did, and I know she was just repeating what Tessa told her her to say, but...I can’t even...there aren’t even enough words in the English language, in any language, to describe how that felt.”

 

“Oh, Honey!” she squeezes his hand, not interrupting, just letting him know she’s with him on this emotional journey.

 

“And then later, we were playing and she called Tess _Mama_ , and I...I think that was maybe even better, somehow,” he confesses, and watches as his mom’s eyes fill with tears.

 

At one point, during last night’s dramatic laundry basket car chase, Annika had interrupted the festivities by standing up in the moving basket and demanding her mother’s attention.  “Mama,” she’d said, in her sweet little girl voice. And then, more adamantly, “Mama!” Tessa had moved quickly, clearly recognizing the urgency in her daughter’s tone.

 

“What, Baby?” she’d asked, dropping into an easy crouch in front of Annika.  “What’s wrong?”

 

He’d watched Tess slide her hand gently down Annika’s arm, taking her hand, and tilting her head in close to their daughter’s.  

 

Annika had danced in place, in the laundry basket, eyes wide, quite obviously sending silent messages to Tessa with her eyes and body language.  “Do you need to potty?” Tessa asked her, quietly. When she’d nodded frantically in reply, Tessa had scooped her up onto her hip without hesitation.  “Bathroom?” she’d asked, her look clearly indicating that time was of the essence.

 

“Behind the stairs,” he’d managed.  “Just past the entryway, there’s a half-bath on the left.”  He’d stood there in stunned silence, watching Tessa walk down the hallway, toward the front of the house, Annika’s bare foot bumping against the curve of Tess’s bottom as she walked, her pudgy fingers, resting against Tessa’s back, curling restlessly in the ends of her dark locks.

 

 _Mama_.  

 

Hearing Annika call Tessa that had been just as powerful as hearing her call him Daddy when she’d first opened her eyes.  Both moments had completely bowled him over without warning in the most indescribably profound way. He doesn’t think he moved a muscle until several minutes later when they’d returned to the room, and Tessa had announced, eyebrows raised, and smiling, “Crisis averted.”

 

He looks at his mother now, where she sits across the table from him, wiping away what he can tell are happy tears, and he tells her the news he’d had to struggle not to call her with at way too late an hour last night.  “She gave her your name, Mom. Tessa named our little girl Annika Jordan _Alma_ Virtue.”

 

With these words, he has to get up from the table and move around to wrap his mom in a comforting hug.  She’s crying openly now, and he’s gritting his teeth to hold it together for her. He knows her tears are mostly happy, that the name thing, both the use of hers and the lack of his, has just tipped her emotions over the breaking point, but he’s also smart enough to know that she’s been a parent a lot longer than he has, long enough to know all the things he hasn’t even realized yet, and she’s his mom, and if anyone, besides him, is going to cry for all the things he’s already missed in his daughter’s life, it will be Alma Moir.  So, he just stands there in the kitchen, surrounded by warm morning sunlight, and holds his mom while she cries. It is not the first time she has cried on his behalf, and even though he prays it’s the last, the newfound wisdom afforded to him by sudden fatherhood, makes him doubt that it is.

 

Later, when they’ve gathered themselves and ventured into town to tackle the long to-do list they’ve made, Scott holds up a Tinkerbell bedspread.  “This one, you think?” he asks, his brow furrowed in doubt.

 

“I don’t know.  I liked the other one better.  Maybe you should wait and ask Tessa what sh--Oh!  Here! This one, Scott! Don’t you think?” She turns to face him and finds that they are now holding up identical toddler-sized bedspreads, he having just exchanged the one he’d asked her about for the one he’s currently holding triumphantly in the air.

 

Scott laughs out loud.  “I think that settles it,” he says, dropping the blanket on top of a cart already overflowing with various little-girl related items.  

 

As they head to the checkout stand, Alma says, “I think we can get Sam, at the hardware store, to mix us this exact shade of pink if you still want to match the walls to the bedspread?”  She leaves it open, like a question.

 

He looks down to where her hand rests against the bedspread they’d just picked out.  Her finger points at one of Tinkerbell’s pale, pink figure skates.

 

“Absolutely,” he says.  

 

++++

 

Tessa sits cross-legged on her living room floor folding a giant basket of towels.  Annika sits nearby “helping” her by folding (unfolding) every third towel she places in the neat stack to her right.  It’s a long process, and she thinks it’s no wonder that she has a pile of clean laundry the size of a small vehicle on the bed in the spare room, still waiting to be folded, but her daughter is occupied and quiet.  So, some clothes wrinkle...her kid is happy, and in the long run, that’s more important to her.

 

She wonders at the version of herself that she is now, knowing full well that three short years ago that pile of unfolded laundry would’ve been haunting her nightmares if it’d been found lurking anywhere in her very white, very tidy home.  Now, it only bugs her just a little, when she allows herself to dwell on it, which she tries not to do. She can’t help the tiny niggle in the back of her mind, she is still _her_ , after all, but she is able to squelch the voice that tells her to _fold the laundry_ or _clean the kitchen_ or _get some sketches done,_ and, instead, heed the one that says, _play with your kid_ and _you’re the only Mom she has_ and _she’ll only be this little once._

 

“Mama,” Annika says, from her place at Tessa’s side.

 

“Baby,” Tessa says back to her, parroting her inflection.  

 

Annika shakes the laundry basket and makes questionable, but easily identifiable, engine noises.  “Rrrrr rrrrr rrrrr,” she says, and smiles, showing off two rows of perfect, white baby teeth.

 

Tessa smiles in response.  “Is that your car? Did Daddy teach you to drive?” she asks, the word _Daddy_ still feeling strange but not unpleasant on her tongue.  She drops the towel she’s been folding into her lap and reaches to brush her fingers over Annika’s brow, lovingly.

 

“Daddy.  Car. Rrrrrr!” Annika agrees, shaking the basket again, and Tessa feels her heart clench a little in her chest.  “You want to go see Daddy again, Anna?” she asks, watching her daughter’s face for signs of recognition.

 

She realizes her mistake almost as soon as the words leave her mouth.  One should never utter the word _go_ around a toddler without the immediate plan to, you know, go somewhere.

 

Annika’s eyes light up and she says, hopefully, “Me go?  Bye bye?” She stands up as if to head for the door.

 

Tessa laughs and pulls her daughter in for a hug.  “Not today, Baby, but we’ll call Daddy and ask him if we can come over again soon, okay?”

 

Annika frowns and pouts at this but does not offer a verbal response.  Tessa feels bad for bringing it up. Impulsively, she tosses Annika into the clothes basket, on top of the remaining towels, and leaps to her feet.  “Green light!” she shouts and sprints toward the hallway, sliding the basket along the floor.

 

Annika’s laughter echoes, loudly, down the hall, and, thankfully, after two laps around the living room and another trip up and down the length of the hallway, she is shrieking with delight and has forgotten her immediate need to _go_.  

 

Later, when Annika is down for a nap, Tessa texts Scott to set up another visit.  He asks if they can meet at his parents’ house this time, so they can meet their granddaughter, and Tessa agrees, knowing how important it is to him.  She’s a little nervous to see them again, honestly. She hopes they don’t hate her. They were very important people in her life for a lot of years, and that would be devastating.  Rationally, she knows that they are reasonable and forgiving people, and she doubts they will hold what happened against her. She cannot, however, fully silence the irrational fear that they will never forgive her for causing them to miss the first two years of their granddaughter’s life.  As she’d discussed with Kate previously, though, she will foster that relationship for Annika, whether it’s easy for her to do so or not. It’s the right thing to do, and honestly...she’s really missed them.

  


++++


	9. NINE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because you all are such AWESOME readers who give such encouraging and inspiring feedback in your reviews, I am posting this next chapter early. It's also a long one, so I hope you enjoy the extra length! You all are making this so much fun to write! Thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart! <3

++++

 

Tessa’s heart beats heavy in her chest as she pulls to a stop in the Moirs’ driveway.  It’s been three years since she’s been here, and yet it looks as if absolutely nothing has changed.  She’s not surprised by that fact. In the past, she’d taken comfort in the stability of Scott’s family, especially in those middle years, when the two of them had been living away from home, and her own family had begun to disintegrate.  Scott’s family had been solid as a rock. Year after year, they’d remained the same...the house, the rink, Alma and Joe. She’d found such relief and contentment in that. 

 

_ Succor _ , she thinks, now, gazing at the familiar front porch.  

 

There’s a big part of her that doesn’t want to upset that memory, that possibility of coming back to something whole and perfect, by going in there today and finding out that things have changed.  She knows she has to forge ahead though. She’s come this far, and they’re expecting her, and they deserve to know their granddaughter. 

 

She unhooks her seatbelt and steps from the SUV, moving to the back and opening the rear door.  Annika smiles up at her from her carseat, already reaching for her, as Tessa goes about unbuckling her and gathering her backpack from the floorboard.  Not surprisingly, her little white ballet flats have found their way off of her feet. They are tucked into her carseat, one wedged near either hip, and Tessa tugs them free and takes a second to slip them back onto her warm, wiggly feet.  She glances over her shoulder. No one has come outside to greet them just yet, so she takes a moment to adjust Annika’s hair. It’s up in a messy bun today, as is her own, and she takes a moment to adjust hers, as well, eyeing her reflection in the rear window.  She misses her glasses, but she’d opted not to wear them today, feeling the need to be as much of her old self as possible when meeting the Moirs again after such a long absence. Tessa and Annika are dressed casually, but Tessa thinks she’s still managed to find a balance between casual and cute.  With her ballet flats, Annika is wearing a pair of skinny-leg denim capris with a wide cuff just below her knees and a long sleeved, red and white checked shirt. The shirt and the white infinity scarf at her neck are both made of lightweight summer-appropriate material, and there’s a thin white ribbon tied into a headband around her hair.  Tessa is wearing a fitted, sleeveless shirt in the same shade of red as Annika’s and a pair of medium wash skinny jeans. Her own ballet flats are black with tiny red dots on their leathery surface. She fusses over both of their clothes for several seconds until she can’t put off the inevitable anymore. Annika is standing in the floorboard now and beginning to get shifty.  Tessa sighs and slings the white backpack onto her shoulder before lifting her daughter onto her right hip and shutting the car door.

 

She makes her way across the yard, eyeing Scott’s car, the same one that’d sat in the driveway of his house, as she passes it.  He’d said he’d meet her here, and clearly he has already arrived. She shrugs, uneasily, against the sense of comfort that tries to settle into her chest at that realization.  She doesn’t need Scott as a security blanket. Besides, she’s got this. It’s just Alma and Joe.

 

_ Just Alma and Joe _ , she repeats to herself as she climbs the familiar front porch steps.

 

Just as she reaches the top step, the front door opens and she watches as Scott makes his way out onto the porch.  “Hey, you made it!” he says, smiling welcomingly.

 

“Hey,” she says.  Her eyes flicking nervously behind him, expecting his parents to appear at any second.

 

“We didn’t actually hear you pull up,” Scott says, following her gaze.  “I was just coming to make sure the windows were up on my car. It’s supposed to rain later.”  As she watches, his eyes double check the windows of his car and her SUV. Appearing satisfied, he turns back to her.  “Dad had to run next door to the rink but he’ll be right back. Mom’s in the kitchen though. Come on in,” he says, motioning her inside and stepping back to allow her through the front door.  “She’s so excited. They both are, but Mom’s really just beside herself.” 

 

Once they step inside the entryway, it’s like she’s been transported back in time.  If not for the weight of her daughter in her arms, it could easily be 2015. Or 2005.  There have been some upgrades over the years, but truly very little has changed, and she finds that she is relieved that the inside of this house has remained as wholly unchanged as the outside.

 

“Hi, Annika,” Scott says, softly, tentatively.  

 

Annika smiles, shyly, and lays her head on Tessa’s shoulder, not quite ready to engage just yet.

 

“Did she sleep in the car?” he asks, his eyes moving back to rest on Tessa’s face.

 

“Yeah, but she’s actually been awake for the last half hour or so.  She’s just getting her bearings, still, I think,” she offers, comfortingly.

 

He nods.  “Well, do you want to come on back to the kitchen?”  He motions down the hall, toward where Tessa knows the kitchen lies.

 

“Sure,” she agrees, nodding and stepping forward.  They move down the hall, and she feels his hand land on the small of her back as they round the corner into the sunny, sweet-smelling kitchen.  There’s something baking, Tessa realizes, and she attributes the sudden warmth radiating through her body to the heat from the oven and not from Scott’s hand burning through the material of her cotton shirt.

 

Tessa wipes her sweaty palm on the outside of her thigh just as Alma turns from her place near the oven.  

 

“Tessa!” she beams, rushing forward.  “Oh, my goodness! You’re here!” She places both palms on Tessa’s cheeks and gazes into her eyes.  Her face is open and happy, and Tessa doesn’t see any hint of accusation there. Alma’s eyes are already shining, and Tessa feels her own well up in response.  “You look beautiful!” Alma gushes, one hand moving over to cup Annika’s cheek as well. “Both of you...oh, just look at you!” 

 

“Mom,” Scott says, from his place behind and to the right of Tessa.  “This is your granddaughter, Annika.” He looks over his daughter’s shoulder and catches her eye.  “Annika, this is your Nana.” Suddenly, a thought seems to occur to him, and he turns to Tessa. “What does she call your Mom and Dad?”

 

“Um...my mom is GiGi.  My dad is just Grandpa, I guess?  She…doesn’t really call him anything,” she says, feeling slightly embarrassed at the less-than-ideal state of her relationship with her father.

 

He nods, understanding coloring his eyes.  “I just wondered...Danny and Charlie’s kids kinda named the grandparents already on this side.  Mom and Dad are Nana and Papa. I didn’t know if we’d have a conflict there or not. I’m glad it won’t be confusing for her though.”

 

Tessa nods her agreement and then smiles at Annika.  “Anna, you have a Nana and a Papa! This is your Nana.  Can you say, hi Nana?”

 

Annika smiles, shyly, her head falling once again onto Tessa’s shoulder, but she curls her tiny fingers into a wave and manages a quiet, “Hi”.

 

“Bless her heart,” Alma coos.  “Hello, Annika. Aren’t you just the sweetest thing?  You look  _ just _ like your mama!  Do you know that?”  She holds out her hand and Annika places her palm against Alma’s, trustingly.  “You definitely have your daddy’s eyes though. Oh my goodness!”

 

Alma’s eyes move back to Tessa’s and Tessa feels her cheeks pink up.  For all the years that she suspects Alma probably wondered what, if anything, might be going on between she and Scott, there’s little doubt now.  She feels like there’s some sort of stamp on her skin right now stating  _ Scott Moir was here _ .  Thankfully, Alma seems to sense her discomfort and shifts her gaze back to Annika.  “She really is beautiful,” she says, her eyes then shifting to Scott’s, full of maternal pride and love.  

 

Joe enters the kitchen right at that moment and Alma says, “Oh Joe!  You were right! Just look at her! She’s absolutely gorgeous. The perfect mix of our Scotty and Tess.”

 

Tessa swallows hard.  She feels Scott’s hand slip from her back and grasp her fingers, where they rest against Annika’s thigh.  He gives them a reassuring squeeze. “Annika, this is your Papa Joe. Dad, this is your granddaughter, Annika.”  

 

Annika bats her eyelashes at Joe, bashfully, and they all laugh.  “Well, she may have your eyes, son, but this girl is Tessa all over again,” he says, smiling.  “You did good, sweetheart,” he says to Tessa, chuffing her on the chin as if she were still seven years old.  Tessa relaxes a little, her eyes misting slightly at the term of endearment. Joe doesn’t seem angry with Tessa either, and that’s such a relief.  He and Alma appear wholly focused on making her and Annika feel welcome in their home, uninterested, it would seem, in enacting any type of emotional punishment for any perceived slights regarding their missing time with Annika.

 

After several minutes, Scott is able to convince Annika to separate from Tessa long enough to help him find some toys.  Watching her daughter go willingly to him is a strange and moving experience. She looks smaller when Scott is holding her, her little bottom balanced on his strong forearm, his palm cradling her back, protectively.  His splayed fingers nearly cover the entire width of her back, and Tessa revels at how safe she looks there in his arms. The charmed look on his face is priceless, and Tessa can’t help but smile as she notices the matching expression on her daughter’s face as she gazes up at her Daddy.  

 

_ Well, that didn’t take long _ , she thinks.  

 

It never takes her daughter long to warm up to new people, but she seems to have a certain affinity for Scott already.  Tessa isn’t surprised, though, really. It’s literally in her DNA to find the man charming. 

 

Scott turns questioning eyes to her, asking silent permission to take Annika from the room, and she nods her assent.  She trusts Scott with their daughter. She’s seen him with other kids over the years, both complete strangers and his own nieces and nephews, and she knows they’ll be fine.  The worst that can happen is that Annika will fuss for her, and she knows he’ll bring her right back, if she does. As she watches, Scott turns and takes Annika in search of toys, and Joe shuffles off after them to help haul the grandkids’ toybox from the hall closet.  

 

Arms empty of her daughter, Tessa feels at a sudden loss.  She places Annika’s bag on the counter and turns to Alma. “Is there anything I can do to help you?” she asks.

 

“You can come right over here and give me a proper hug,” Alma says, smiling and opening her arms.  Shocked, though she couldn’t say quite why because that is  _ such _ an Alma thing to say, Tessa finds herself hesitating, her feet unable to move from their current place of residence on the Moirs’ spotlessly clean kitchen floor.  

 

Alma waits patiently, though, arms outstretched, eyebrows raised encouragingly, until finally Tessa feels her feet begin to peel away from the tile beneath her feet.  Then, seemingly propelled by emotion alone, Tessa finds that she’s launched herself into Alma’s waiting arms. As soon as she settles against the older woman’s sturdy frame, she goes practically limp with relief, and as Alma’s arms wrap tightly around her, it literally feels like going back in time and coming home and every other piece of cliched familial fiction she’s ever read.

 

And it’s exquisite.

 

“Oh, I’ve missed you, sweet girl,” Alma tells her, one hand moving up to stroke her hair as if she was still just a little girl.

 

Tessa takes a deep breath and tries to reply, but nothing comes out.   _ I’ve missed you, too, _ she thinks.   _ So much _ .  Immediately, she feels her abdominal muscles start to quiver and her shoulders begin to shake.  By the time tears spring to her eyes, her whole body is shaking with the force of her silent weeping.

 

She hadn’t known she needed this.  She knew she didn’t want Alma and Joe to hate her, but oh, she had  _ needed _ this.  Them. 

 

“Oh, Tessa,” she hears, whispered against her ear, as she feels Alma rub her back in comforting circles between her shoulder blades.  “Don’t cry, honey.” She can hear the thickness in Alma’s voice though, too.

 

Tessa gathers herself, quickly, reigning in the rest of her tears.  “I’m sorry,” she whispers, brokenly. And she is,  _ truly _ sorry from the very depths of her being.  She’s never been as sorry for anything in her life as she is for keeping Annika from the Moirs.  Miscommunication or no, she will always blame herself for this, just a little bit, because she should have known...no member of this family would ever turn their back on one of their own.  Not Alma or Joe, and not Scott. 

 

“It’s okay,” Alma murmurs, rocking her side to side just a little, mothering her in the most comforting way.

 

“I should have known, but I didn’t,” Tessa whispers, her face tucked into Alma’s shoulder, her voice muffled.  “I really didn’t. I...I thought...I mean, he said…” she trails off, not sure what to say, how much to reveal. 

 

“It’s okay, honey,” Alma assures her.  “Scotty was here when he realized what must’ve happened when you tried to tell him you were expecting.”  She feels Scott’s mom tuck her hair behind her ear just the way her own mom would. “We understand. And if Scott had done what you thought he did, I’d have kicked his butt myself,” she states, firmly, though Tessa can hear the hint of a smile in her voice.

 

“You don’t hate me then?  For keeping her away?” she asks, pulling back to look the older woman in the eye.  She can’t help herself. She needs to hear the words.

 

“Tessa,” Alma admonishes, gently.  “We could never hate you. You know better than that.  Silly girl,” she chuckles, shaking her head as if it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard.

 

“Joe either?” Tessa asks, remembering the angry look on his face that day at the fabric store.   
  


“Are you kidding?” Alma scoffs.  “You’re the daughter he never had.  He’d trade you for Scott, or any of the boys for that matter, in a heartbeat.  And if you’re only just now realizing it, then you missed years of opportunity to get just about anything you wanted out of that man.”

 

Tessa smiles, fondly.  “I’m still just...so sorry,” she says, and she lets Alma look into her eyes, lets her see the absolute truth of her words.  “I thought about contacting you and asking you if you wanted to meet her, but I just couldn’t. I think I was just too hurt…”  She looks down, guiltily. “But if I had, we would have figured this all out so much sooner, and I feel terrible about that.”

 

“Tessa Jane,” Alma chides her, gently.  “The weight of the entire world is not yours to bear.  Don’t go taking it on your shoulders when you don’t have to.”  Alma pats Tessa’s cheek, affectionately. “You and Scotty both share  _ some _ blame in this, yes, but you both suffered, too, through  _ no _ fault of your own.  Joe and I don’t blame you.  We don’t hate you. And neither does Scott, okay?” 

 

Tessa’s eyes shift nervously to one side.  She hadn’t been asking about Scott. But… 

 

Taking away all that she’d  _ thought _ Scott had done, and leaving only what he’d actually done meant that all he’d really been guilty of three years ago was shutting her out after they slept together, which was awful, but didn’t warrant a disappearing act and two-and-a-half years without his daughter.  She’s not sure how he could  _ not _ hate her for that.  At least a little bit.  “He doesn’t?” she asks, in a small voice, feeling every bit the awkward young girl she’d been in this very kitchen on multiple occasions over the years.  

 

Alma shakes her head.  “He never could. You know that, too.”

 

And maybe she did, but she’d needed to hear that, too.

 

She hears a throat clear behind her, and she steps out of Alma’s embrace, wiping her eyes, carefully, to avoid any more damage to what she’s sure is her already wrecked mascara.

 

“Everything okay in here?” Scott asks, concerned, glancing carefully between his mom and Tessa, who’ve both obviously been crying.

 

“Everything’s fine, son.  What do you need?” Alma, asks, giving Tessa a moment to recover.

 

“Oh, uh,” he looks to Tessa.  “I think she needs to go to the bathroom,” he says, nodding toward Annika, where she rests comfortably against his hip, holding onto a mostly-bald baby doll that has clearly seen better days.

 

“Oh, here,” she says, stepping forward.  “Let me take her.” Scott hands their daughter off to Tessa, and she goes easily, settling comfortably into her mother’s arms.  “Bathroom’s still in the same place, yeah?”

 

“Yeah, the same,” he confirms.  She nods, and he watches with concern as she ducks out of the kitchen.  “Is she okay?” he asks his mom, once he’s sure Tessa is out of earshot.

 

“She’s alright, honey.  She’s just taken a lot of needless blame onto herself for what happened between the two of you.  You know Tessa. She’s always been like that. Anytime anyone was upset, she was sure she’d done something to upset them.  Marina and Igor, her family,  _ you _ .  She grew out of it some as you guys got older, but...she must be feeling pretty vulnerable right now, you know?  Sharing Annika with all of us after doing it all by herself for so long. I think that vulnerability makes it a little easier to second guess herself is all.”

 

He opens his mouth to defend himself.   _ I didn’t know _ , he wants to remind his mother.   _ I didn’t leave her alone on purpose _ .

 

“I know, son,” she says, cutting him off by holding up a hand to stop him from continuing.  “It’s not really your fault either, but you never internalized everything the way she does. I’m just reminding you of that fact, okay?  When you guys get to the finger-pointing, and at some point, you will, remember to be kind to each other above all else. The world has done enough damage to you both.”  She pats his cheek, just as she’d done to Tessa moments before. “Don’t kick each other while you’re down, that’s all I’m saying. If you fight fair, so will she.”

 

“I don’t want to fight with her at all, Mom,” he says, his brow furrowed.

 

“Oh, Scotty,” she says, smiling wistfully.  “Then don’t fight with her, son. Fight  _ for _ her.”

 

She turns back to the oven then, and Scott is left to think about that particular piece of advice.

 

++++

 

That afternoon it starts to rain, so they are forced to spend the day inside, but they don’t have any trouble occupying their time.  Mostly, the day is spent in conversation, just catching up with each other, with the Moirs all taking turns entertaining Annika and getting to know her.  Eventually, they all end up sitting at the kitchen table, passing an ipad back and forth across the smooth wooden surface. Tessa had thought to bring along some photos of Annika’s life so far.  She’d been so unprepared for her meeting with Scott that it hadn’t even occurred to her on that first trip back to Ilderton, but this time she’d come prepared. 

 

Alma and Joe ooh and ahh over each and every picture, and Scott stares, silently, at photo after photo of his daughter’s life.  There are so many moments. Annika in the hospital, red and crying and obviously only moments old. It’s a close up, the only trace of Tessa, her index finger, clutched tightly in their daughter’s fist.  Annika in the bath, looking like a little tadpole, with her round belly and tiny bottom and legs. Annika making a disgusted face as something that might be mashed peas leak slowly from her open mouth. Annika taking what is clearly a wobbly step between Kate’s outstretched hands and Tessa’s waiting ones.  Annika at her first birthday party, staring in confusion at the remains of her pink smash cake after her hands have obviously demolished it. Annika in the bath again, laughing, bubbles up to her chin and piled high on top of her head. Annika at her second birthday party, pouting, arms crossed, clearly upset over having to wait for someone to light the candles on her cake.  On and on. And then, at the end, almost as an afterthought, a single photo of Tessa when she was obviously  _ very _ pregnant with their daughter.  It’s at the cottage, he can tell.  She’s sitting cross-legged on the wooden planks of the back deck, facing the water.  Someone had obviously called her name, and she’d turned, surprised. She’s wearing a loose fitting, but clingy white sweater and a pair of cut-off denim shorts, and her hands are resting on top of her very prominent baby bump.  Her hair is long and loose, tumbling down her back and lifting wildly on the breeze. She looks young. And sad.

 

Scott can’t look away from that one for some reason, and he has to swallow hard past the lump that’s formed in his throat, before he can say, “Thank you for bringing these, Tess.  They’re great. I--thank you.”

 

She nods.  “You’re welcome,” she says, smiling, and he can’t help but notice that her eyes are still just the tiniest bit red-rimmed from earlier.

 

It’s Joe that probably saves the rest of the afternoon from becoming a completely maudlin affair, asking, “Hey, Alma, I thought you were making cookies earlier.  Where’d they end up?”

 

She’d put the dough away after a single batch once Tessa and Annika had arrived, but upon his request she pulls the chilled chocolate chip cookie dough from the refrigerator and gets to work on baking the rest of the cookies that she’d promised for the local bake sale to benefit the Ilderton Fire Department.  It takes very little convincing to get Annika to help, and the afternoon takes a decidedly upbeat turn after that. Scott spends the remainder of the hours between then and dinner watching Annika scoop ever-growing portions of cookie dough onto his mother’s baking stone from her perch on the counter near his mother’s hip.  Tessa stands on her other side, redistributing the dough into more proportioned amounts while Annika’s back is turned. The process might be tedious to some, but he thinks he could watch this scene unfold for the next hundred years and not grow tired of it.

 

By the time the cookies are all cooled and stored neatly in their transport containers, it’s dinner time, and they all settle in at the table for a meal together before Tessa has to drive back to the city.  Alma has made twice baked ziti, a favorite from Tessa’s childhood, in honor of her presence at their table, and she’s openly touched and excited.

 

It’s a hit with Annika, too, who manages to enjoy it so much that she actually needs a bath after dinner, having managed to get as much of the gooey pasta in her hair as she did in her mouth.  

 

“Scott, take Tessa upstairs and show her where she can give this baby a bath,” Alma tells her son.  “Everything she needs should be in the hall closet.” 

 

“Come on, T,” he says.  “I’ll get ya set up, eh?”

 

They trudge up the stairs, Tessa trying to keep as much of Annika’s pasta off of herself as possible as they navigate the narrow space.  At the top of the landing, Scott stops and opens the door to the hall closet. Sure enough, not only are there towels and washcloths inside, but also several kinds of baby and toddler soap and shampoo.  

 

“Mom and Dad usually have one or two of the kids over here on the weekends and always at the holidays.  I think you should be able to find anything you might need in here, including,” he says, pulling a basket of tub toys from the floor with a flourish.  “Toys!” His eyes sparkle as they meet Annika’s. 

 

She squeals with delight and claps her sticky, sauce-covered hands, gleefully.

 

Scott hesitates then, torn.  “I can stay, if you want...and help.  Or...or not, if you’d rather I didn’t.”  He knows she’s perfectly capable of giving their daughter a bath, has obviously done so hundreds of times over the course of Annika’s life, but he wants her to know that she can ask for his help now, that he wants to help, wants to be involved in their daughter’s life.  Not just for the big stuff, but for the small stuff, too. 

 

Tessa eyes him, trying to decide if she’s willing to cram herself into a space as small as a guest bathroom with him or not.  He looks so hopeful though, so willing to be of service to her and to their daughter, and isn’t that what she’d always wanted?  What she’d spent long, sleepless nights fretting about, because her child would never have it? How could she, in good conscience, send him away, then?  “Okay,” she nods. “Thanks,” she adds, as an afterthought. “Do you mind, um...can you just take her for a minute while I get her bath ready?”

 

“Yes,” he says, stepping forward to gather their pasta-loving child into his arms.  “Sure, no problem.”

 

“Just...don’t let her touch anything,” she cautions, looking around at Alma and Joe’s clean house.

 

“Are you kidding me, T?  You know this house has seen so much worse than a little tomato sauce,” he grins.

 

“True,” she says, gathering towels and strawberry-scented toddler shampoo from the closet.  “But it’s been awhile since you boys lived here, and I doubt any of the grandkids are as gross as you three were.  God bless your mother for cleaning this bathroom all those years,” Tessa jabs, shuddering at the thought. She thanks her lucky stars, not for the first time, that Annika had been a girl.  The thought of a little Moir boy had terrified her, for so many reasons.

 

“Why do you think she let Danny and I board away for our sports?” he joked, winking conspiratorially.

 

“Scott Patrick Moir,” she scolded him, laughing.  “That is a terrible thing to say. As a mother, I can assure you, that must have been a very difficult choice to make,” she says, reaching out to brush her fingers, lovingly, over Annika’s fine, dark hair.  “Letting you move away was for you, not her, and you know it.”

 

He does, and he knows that Tessa knows that he does, but their conversation is nice, and it fills the quiet moments as she pulls baby soap from the shelf and toes the closet door closed.  

 

He follows her into the bathroom and stands Annika on the pale yellow bath mat.  “Here,” he says, offering to get the water started, and gesturing for her to take over with their daughter.  They switch places, and he turns on the water and pulls the lever that will allow the tub to fill. He checks the temperature several times, making sure the water is staying just slightly above luke warm.  Satisfied, he turns to find Tessa tugging Annika’s red and white checked shirt up over her head. For a second he panics, not sure whether he should look away or leave so as not to impose on their daughter’s modesty.

 

As soon as her shirt is off though, she becomes immediately fascinated with her own belly button, stuffing her finger into it and then squeezing her tiny belly into an adorable roll of baby fat.   _ So much for modesty _ , he thinks.  Then,  _ clearly, we’re not there yet. _

 

Tessa tugs the rest of Annika’s clothes free, until she stands before them completely naked, her shoes long since removed and lying forgotten somewhere downstairs.  She pokes at her belly button again before turning suddenly and tugging up the hem of Tessa’s shirt, shoving her tiny finger into Tessa’s equally appealing, but in a  _ much _ different way, belly button.  

 

“Button!” she cries, gleefully.

 

“Annika!” Tessa cries, her cheeks turning pink as she tugs her shirt back into place.  “Get your own belly button, you little monster,” she says, laughing nervously. “Sorry, she’s into belly buttons right now,” she mumbles, shrugging apologetically.

 

Scott laughs at that.  “No need to apologize. I definitely don’t mind a little belly button action,” he says, teasingly.

 

Tessa gives him a look.  It’s an odd mix of amusement and confusion.

 

Annika frowns at having her game thwarted.  “Mama bath?” she asks, hopefully.

 

“Not tonight, sweet girl,” Tessa tells her, apologetically, dragging her eyes away from Scott’s.  “Tonight you’re flying solo, I’m afraid. But look! Your daddy is here to play with you!” This last part seems to appease the girl, and she smiles, nodding happily.

 

Scott swallows hard, envisioning Tess and Annika in a large bathtub full of bubbles.

 

The image shouldn’t be at all erotic, and yet somehow because it’s _Tessa_ , and because Annika is _their_ baby that _they_ _made_ , it is.

 

In order to distract himself, Scott dumps the bag of tub toys into the bath and shuts off the water.  Checking the temperature one last time. “I think we’re good to go, if you want to just give it a final check,” he says, nodding toward the water.

 

Tessa dips her finger in and nods her approval, lifting their daughter over the side and settling her into the warm water.  Kneeling next to the tub, she takes the wash cloth Scott holds out to her and sets about giving Annika a good scrub. When their child is completely sauce-free and sweet-smelling, Tessa uses steady hands to tilt her daughter’s chin back, gently.  She grabs a small cup from the bag of tub toys and uses it to pour water over Annika’s hair until it’s fully saturated.

 

Scott hands her the strawberry-scented shampoo, and their elbows bump together as she lathers their daughter’s hair while he entertains her with a parade of squeaky tub toys.  Once Tessa gets all of the shampoo rinsed out of Annika’s hair, she moves to the corner of the room, drying her hands and taking a seat on the closed toilet, seemingly content to watch him navigate bath time with their daughter.

 

Scott and Annika play, semi-quietly, their voices blending into a comforting murmur of background noise.  Tessa doesn’t realize that her eyes have slipped closed until a sudden, loud clap of thunder has them flying open again.  They open just in time to see Annika spring out of the water in surprise, her eyes wide. Tessa jumps to her feet, moving forward to steady her daughter, so she doesn’t slip.  Scott is already there though, his strong hands, steady and supportive, just as they’d always been for her. And, she realizes, he’s no more likely to let their daughter fall on his watch than he was to let her fall for all those years.  He’d never dropped her a single time, not once in all their years as partners. She relaxes back into her seat on the lid of the closed toilet. 

 

_ He’s got this, _ she thinks.

 

By the time their daughter is out of the tub, dried off, and changed into a pull-up and her pajamas (Tessa had learned after the last late night drive from Ilderton that this is the smarter way to travel, so that she can just pop Annika into bed once they get home), it has started to storm in earnest.  

 

“Tess, maybe you guys should just stay here tonight,” Scott suggests as they make their way back downstairs.  “I know that wasn’t the plan, but it wasn’t supposed to be storming like this either. The weather channel only called for some light rain, and this is an all out thunderstorm.”

 

Tessa hesitates.  It’s been a great day, but she isn’t sure she’s ready to spend the night here.  This place holds a lot of memories for her. For them.

 

Just as she opens her mouth to protest, a bolt of lightning lights up the darkness and it’s immediately followed by a ground-shaking boom of thunder.  Annika whimpers from her place on Scott’s hip and reaches for Tessa, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “It’s okay, love,” Tessa says, taking her from Scott and holding her close against her chest, pressing her lips against her daughter’s damp hair.  “You’re okay, Mama’s got you. You’re fine...shh,” she whispers, soothingly. Deciding this might be a really long and traumatic car ride back to Toronto, Tessa relents. “If you don’t think your parents will mind…” she concedes,

 

“Don’t think we’ll mind what?” Joe asks as Tessa and Scott reach the bottom of the stairs.  

 

“If Tess and Annika stay here, instead of driving all the way back to Toronto tonight,” Scott supplies.

 

“Your Mom’s already down in the basement, making up the sofa bed,” Joe says, winking.  “You gonna stay, too? You know your bed’s still made up in your old room.”

 

“Yeah, probably.  It’s not far, but it’s really coming down out there.  Why chance it, right?” he asks, shrugging. “Plus, if I stay here, I get breakfast with these three,” he says, nodding his head in the direction of Tessa and Annika and his mother, who’d just made her way up from the basement.

 

“So, it’s settled then, right?” Alma asks.  “You’re both gonna stay here tonight and ride out the storm?”  Her eyes move from Tessa to Scott and back to Tessa.

 

“Um...I guess, so, yeah, if you’re sure it’s not an inconvenience,” Tessa manages.  She shifts her daughter’s weight against her chest until Annika’s head rests on her shoulder and her legs slip around her waist.  She’s getting sleepy and her body is growing heavier as it becomes limp with fatigue.

 

“Pfft,” Alma scoffs, as if to say,  _ nonsense _ .  “You and Annika are always welcome here, Tessa.  Always.”

 

“Scotty, can you find Tess something to wear?  I think there’s some stuff up in your old room that’ll work.  And bring the spare pillows from that closet down with you, too, will you?” she asks.

 

“Sure, Mom,” he says, before turning his gaze back to Tessa.  As he watches, she shifts Annika’s weight up higher on her hips, locking her hands underneath their daughter’s bottom, using her forearms as a sort of shelf for her to rest against.  Their little girl is pretty petite, but then again, so is Tess, and she looks absolutely beat right now. “If you want to take her downstairs and get her settled, I can bring the clothes and pillows down in a few.”

 

She looks grateful.  “That’d be great,” she says.  “Thanks.”

 

After a quick round of  _ goodnights _ and  _ see you in the mornings _ , they all head in separate directions.  Tessa downstairs to get Annika settled for the night, Scott upstairs to get pillows and sleepwear for Tessa, Joe into the living room to check that the front door is locked and the storm windows are all latched, and Alma into the kitchen to turn out the lights and set the coffee pot to auto-brew for the morning.  And for the first time in over three years, Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir prepare to spend the night under one roof.

 

++++

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alma's words to Scott in the kitchen were inspired by the song "This War" by Shoshana Bean. Look it up on YouTube and weep at the beauty and power of this song, I implore you. The part I'm referring to in the story is at bout 3:13 in the official video for the song. The lyrics say: 
> 
> If you want to fight,   
> then fight to keep me not push me away  
> I've got an eye for control,   
> but it's only protecting a heart that's longing to feel safe
> 
> I've listened to this one on repeat while getting into Tessa's headspace for some of the conversation to come between her and Scott, so it might offer a little insight in some way as to how I think Tessa's feeling or has felt at points in her relationship with Scott. Hope you love it as much as I do!


	10. TEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this is where we tread into some adult content. It's mature but not explicit, and the story is tagged with appropriate content warnings. 
> 
>  
> 
> Tess and/or Scott, if you're reading this, for the love of God, please look away now. Kthanks.

++++

 

 

 

Tessa makes her way downstairs and settles Annika between the clean cotton sheets that Alma had placed on the pull-out couch for them.  She slips her shoes off near the foot of the bed and pads over to the bathroom, flipping on the light and cracking the door just enough so there’s a tiny bit of light in case Annika wakes in the night.  She doesn’t want to kill herself by trying to navigate an unfamiliar room in the dark, though as with the rest of the house, seemingly little has changed in this basement in the twenty years she’s known the Moir family.

 

She flops back onto the bed, completely wrung out by the day’s events.  It’s been a pretty good day, considering, but definitely an emotional one, too.  She’s cried more this past week than she can remember crying in years. She presses her fingertips to the bridge of her nose, squeezing to ease the slight pressure headache she can feel radiating from her sinuses.

 

“Hey, Tess,” Scott calls from the bottom of the stairs.  “Can I come in?”

 

He watches her from across the room.  She’s lying on the bed, eyes closed, fully clothed, with their daughter sleeping next to her.  It’s such an evocative image that he pauses, momentarily, on the bottom step, allowing his emotions to sweep over him and then settle around him like an ocean wave.  

 

“Come on in,” she calls, softly, in deference to their sleeping child.  She opens her eyes, and lifts her head, briefly, before letting it fall back to the mattress, her hand falling to her side and her eyes slipping closed once again.  Her body stays supine, never moving from her relaxed position.

 

Scott moves to the side of the bed and stops, dropping two pillows, a pair of sweatpants, and an old  _ Moir’s Skate Shop _ t-shirt onto the mattress beside her.  Her red, sleeveless shirt has ridden up a little, exposing a sliver of smoothe, pale skin between it and the top of her jeans.  He swallows hard. Seeing her here, like this...it brings back memories that he’s pretty sure Tessa would rather he forget. 

 

He won’t though, couldn’t even if he wanted to...which he doesn’t.  

 

He clears his throat.  “The sweats are gonna be big on you, but they have a drawstring, so hopefully they’ll work.”

 

“I’m sure they’ll get the job done,” she mumbles, sleepily, before going quiet, her breaths deep and even.  Then, after a beat, her eyes widen and she sits up on the bed, seeming to realize how close to sleep she’d been.  He watches her attempt to blink away the vulnerability of fatigue.

 

Scott smiles down at her.  She’s so exhausted. She never did do well when her sleep schedule was disturbed.  He can only imagine the havoc raising a child has wreaked on her circadian rhythm. “Get some sleep, Tess,” he says, fondly, taking a few steps back and then moving reluctantly toward the basement steps.  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

She shivers as she hears the familiar squeak of the stairs under his bare feet.  Recognition slips down her spine, tickling and prodding old memories to life.

 

She waits, holding her breath, wondering, and then just as he reaches the top of the stairs she hears it, a loud, purposeful  _ creeeaaak _ .  It’s the second step from the top...the one he used to skip over when he’d sneak down here to see her late at night, anytime she slept over.  

 

She thinks she hears him chuckle as the door clicks shut behind him.  The jerk.

 

_ There are so many memories in this house _ , she thinks, as she moves to strip out of her clothes and tug on the soft cotton sweats and t-shirt.  In this  _ basement _ , even.  

 

_ Especially in this basement _ , she thinks.  

 

As she crawls into bed, she looks around at the familiar space.  Her eyes land on an old air hockey table, now shoved into a far corner of the room, two matching bean bag chairs that are faded and worn with years of use, and a framed family photo of the Moirs, featuring Alma, Joe and all three boys grinning for the camera--all familiar relics from her adolescence.  Suddenly, she’s assailed with a million memories from that time in her life. Images of random holiday celebrations, weekend barbeques, and backyard parties fill her mind. 

 

So many little moments in her life happened here... _ and some not so little moments, too, _ she thinks, recalling one very significant, very memorable milestone in her life that had occurred on the couch in this basement, though to her great relief, not on  _ this _ specific couch.

 

Yep, once upon a time, a young Tessa Virtue had experienced her very first “O” while making out with Scott Moir on the pull-out couch in his parents’ basement, in the aftermath of a very embarrassing incident at their training rink in Kitchener.  It was their first year away from home, and they’d been all over the map, emotionally. Hormonally, they’d been right on target though. With all engines firing on that front, it hadn’t taken more than a single spark to ignite the powder keg between them.

 

That spark had come in the form of one very well-(or not-so-well)-timed boner.

 

It wasn’t the first one she’d noticed, but it had definitely been the first time she’d actually felt it pressed against her for more than just the briefest of moments, the first time Scott had been snugged up against her, intimately, when it happened and been in too precarious of a position to allow him to immediately pull away from her.  

 

They’d been mid-lift, the new one where he was supposed to lift her up and then allow her to slide down the front of his body, her left leg bending at the knee and resting high on his hip, while her right thigh pressed firmly between both of his.  They’d been doing fine, everything going smoothly, she’d thought, as her right foot touched down on the ice and they crouched simultaneously, Scott supporting the bulk of her weight with his forearm as she allowed her back to arch away from him over the ice.  This move was something new for them, though, and a little more intimate than most of what they’d done before, so when she arched backward, she didn’t fully anticipate the way her pelvis would, by necessity, tilt upward into Scott’s. They’d both been too young and inexperienced to even consider the need to aim for slightly off center contact, instead they’d moved together without hesitation, and so he’d been  _ right there  _ when it happened.

 

They were meant to glide along the ice that way for several seconds, in that semi-crouched position, and so when she felt him stiffen against her center, and even  _ more _ alarmingly, felt her own body throb in recognition of what that meant, it wasn’t possible for either of them to immediately pull away from the other.  By the time they’d managed to scramble gracelessly to a fully-upright position and move away from each other, they’d both been red-faced and avoiding eye contact at all costs.

 

They had requested a ten minute break, and then spent the remainder of practice working on footwork and syncing their twizzle sequence, anything to avoid any type of full body contact.

 

Their mutual silence lasted through the car ride home, dinner, two hours of television, and many, many concerned looks from Alma and Joe.

 

Tessa wasn’t surprised though when, hours later, Scott crept quietly down the basement stairs (skipping, expertly, over the creaky ones), pausing at the bottom and whispering, “Tess?  You awake?”

 

“Yeah, I’m awake,” she’d whispered in reply.   _ How will I ever be able to sleep again? _ she’d wanted to ask him, incredulously, her mind still going a thousand miles a minute.

 

“Can I come in?” he’d asked, and she’d known what he meant.   _ Can I get in bed with you? _

 

They’d been sneaking into bed with each other for years.  Not like  _ that _ , just for companionship and comfort, especially when they were away from home for competition.  Their parents were aware, and had even thought it was cute until the last couple of years when it’d suddenly become frowned upon.  They still did it, though, they’d just gotten sneakier about it since they’d been told, gently, that it really wasn’t appropriate anymore, at their age.

 

Tessa hadn’t seen what the big deal was, although she’d blushed furiously when she’d heard Danny mutter under his breath once that he didn’t understand why his girlfriend couldn’t sleep over but Scotty’s could.  She’d been mortified, but pretty sure that no one else had heard it, except Scott, who was equally embarrassed.

 

That night though, she could tell by the tone of his voice that he needed to talk to her, and despite her earlier embarrassment, she could never turn him away when he sounded like that.  Scott tended to get this particularly husky rasp to his voice when he was serious. “Okay,” she said quietly, into the dark. “You can come in.”

 

Whispered apologies and heartfelt reassurances had slowly given way to shared curiosity and mutual interest in this intriguing new facet of their rather unique relationship.  A stolen kiss and a surprising desire to touch and be touched had led to a desire for  _ just a little more _ , and before either of them knew it, they’d fallen down the rabbit hole together.

 

Afterward, they’d been terrified, realizing how close they’d come to doing way more than either of them were even remotely ready for.  Breathless and trembling and equally shocked by the sensations they’d just coaxed from each other’s bodies, they’d sat, silently, in the darkness, waiting for the world to end, or at the very least for Scott’s mother to come downstairs at any moment, demanding to know what in the  _ hell _ they thought they were doing (they didn’t know).  In actuality, they’d done little more than round second base, though the feelings they’d elicited in each other without ever removing a single stitch of clothing still boggles her mind to this day.

 

Who could have known that grinding against a fully-clothed Scott Moir in his parents’ basement while his hands mapped the contours of her maddeningly underdeveloped chest would be her intro into the world of sexual gratification?  Who knew that her best friend, her skating partner, would be her first... _ partner _ ?  That she’d be  _ his _ ?

 

Well, in hindsight, Jordan probably knew...and Danny...and Alma and Kate.  

 

Actually _...probably everybody except me and Scott _ , she thinks, wryly.  

 

If they only knew how right they’d been, she muses to herself, thinking about that night and its perfect bookend which had occurred some twelve years later--her first “O” and the first time she’d made love to  a man she was truly in love with--both experiences had left her feeling panicked.

 

She’s still glad that it was Scott who’d first taught her what her body was capable of, despite everything that came later, and she hopes he feels the same.  That night had been sweet and tender, and he’d been really good to her because he’d been her best friend, and he’d loved her. She couldn’t really ask for more than that from their barely-teenage selves.

 

They’d never talked about that night again, and it was the following Tuesday, when they returned to the ice in Kitchener for their first small competition there, that she’d made her proclamation to him about him being “the only man in her life.”  

 

_ “If we’re going to live here and give up this much for our sport, then it needs to count, right?  Our focus needs to be here, on skating. Not on relationships and stuff.” _

 

_ “So, no boyfriends then, huh, T?” _

 

_ “For right now, you’re the only man in my life, Scotty…” _

 

She thinks about the vulnerable young girl who’d hoped he’d ask her to make an exception for him, and she wonders now if he’d felt the same, if she’d inadvertently shut him down without meaning too.  From even those early years, they seemed to both communicate and  _ mis _ communicate with unparallelled ease. 

 

Regardless, for several years, her statement had remained true.  

 

Eventually, there  _ was _ another boy.  Scott did not end up being her actual “first”, but she’s always sort of felt like in the ways that  _ counted _ he kinda was.  Besides,  _ that _ guy hadn’t even been able to make her come, despite the fact that they were having  _ actual _ sex, and neither had the one that came after him.  Eventually, she’d found a guy that could, but it’d never been like that first time with Scott, again.  

 

Well, not until the second time ( _ technically _ , first time) with Scott.  The time she tries not to think about because the aftermath, the loss of it all, is too painful.  The time they made Annika.

 

Tessa rolls onto her side on the thin mattress, overly warm.  Her cheeks are flushed and hot, and, she realizes with a start, she’s gotten herself all worked up by reliving her childhood indiscretions with Scott.

 

She shifts uncomfortably, wondering, sardonically, if she could still avoid all the creaky stairs on the way to his bedroom.  She presses her thighs together and grinds her teeth. It’d be an even worse idea now than it had been back then,  _ so _ much more complicated.  And, emotionally, she is  _ so _ not there, and, sadly, probably never will be with him again.  And yet, knowing that does not ease the ache she feels low in her belly.  __

 

_ It’s been a long three years _ , she reasons.  

 

That’s the only reason she’s feeling this way.  It has nothing to do with Scott Moir, specifically.  At least, that’s what she tells herself until she falls into a fitful sleep.

 

In the morning, she wakes up frustrated and grumpy.

 

 

 

++++

 


	11. ELEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a particularly long chapter, but it's going to get us where we need to go next. I anticipate the next one to be pretty long, just fyi.
> 
> Thank you all for your continued support of this story, especially this past week. Your lovely words of encouragement give me the strength and motivation to keep going, even when finding my muse isn't particularly easy. 
> 
> And to those of you who leave regular comments...you are my people! Mi gente! <3 So much love to you all! Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

++++

 

At seven-thirty the basement door swings open and Tessa stumbles into the kitchen still in her borrowed clothes, Annika perched securely on her hip, clinging like an adorable little spider monkey.  They are both sporting bed head and sleep-soft eyes, and Scott feels his heart squeeze at the sight of them.

 

Tessa moves to the kitchen table and takes a seat beside him, shifting Annika around on her lap until she sits facing her, legs on either side of her hips.  

 

Once she’s settled against her mother, Annika presses her face into her chest, shyly, and Scott watches as Tessa threads her fingers through their daughter’s fine hair and presses a kiss to the top of her head.  Annika turns and peers at him, grinning. “Hi,” she says, and giggles.

 

“Good morning, Annika,” he says in reply.  He pokes her gently in the side and watches her laugh, squirm, and bury her face in Tessa’s chest again.  To Tessa, he says, “You want some coffee?”

 

“Oh, bless you,” she responds, her voice still thick with sleep.

 

He moves to the coffee maker and pours her a cup, automatically adding a splash of milk and just the tiniest bit of sweetener to cut the bitter.  It’s not until he hands it to her that he stops to question whether she still takes it that way.

 

As soon as the hot liquid touches her lips though, she sighs in appreciation, and he relaxes, knowing that he’s gotten it right.

 

She looks around, noting that they are alone.  “Where’s Alma?” she asks, yawning so widely that her jaw pops in protest.  

 

He chuckles as he watches her struggle to fully wake up.  “She’s at the rink already. Early morning practice today.  And Dad’s already at the shop. They open at eight, so…” he lets his words trail off, watching her sip her coffee.

 

She nods, placing her mug on the table and sliding it away from Annika’s wiggling form, automatically.

 

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” he asks, quietly, in deference to her protracted waking-up stage.  He’s amused that despite motherhood, she still appears to struggle with early mornings.

 

“I really need to get on the road soon.  I have a conference call at one with some potential buyers, and if they decide they want to Skype in order to look at a specific piece I need to not be looking like I just rolled out of bed,” she says, motioning to her current appearance.  

 

Scott muses, silently, that this might be his very favorite version of her, but agrees that it’s probably not appropriate for work.  “Want me to entertain this one,” he says nodding toward Annika. “So you can grab a shower before you have to head back?”

 

She shakes her head.  “I think I’m just going to shower at home.  I didn’t plan on staying over, and I don’t have any of my things with me.  Do you mind finding her something to eat though, while I go change and get our stuff together?”

 

“Sure,” he says, trying not to let the sadness of the idea of watching them leave again impinge on this opportunity to spend a little one-on-one time with his daughter.  “What do you think, kiddo? You want to get some breakfast?” he asks, holding out his hands to her.

 

Annika nods, reaching for him, automatically.  Tessa gives him a strange look as she passes their daughter to him, one that he can’t begin to decipher.  He’d always been able to read her like an open book in the past, and he feels a pang of wistfulness in recognition of that damaged connection.

 

He moves over to the kitchen counter, carefully balancing Annika on his hip and begins sorting through the cold cereal, looking for the most appropriate choice for a two-and-a-half year old.  He hears the basement door open, and just then Annika turns her head and he feels her stiffen in his arms. “Mama?” she calls, sudden panic in her voice.

 

He glances down at his daughter whose eyes are now laser-focused on her mother’s retreating form.  He turns to look at Tessa at the same time she turns back toward Annika. Her eyes flick from their daughter’s to his, and, again, he sees some murky, indefinable emotion swirling in their green depths.  She looks back at Annika. “I’m just going to change clothes, baby. I’ll be right back,” she assures her. “You stay here with your Daddy and have some cereal, okay?” she asks, eyes moving to the box of Cheerios currently clutched in his hand.  “Look, Daddy has O’s, Anna. You love those,” she reminds their child in a tempting voice.

 

Annika looks back at the box of cereal in his hand and seems to settle against him, temporarily placated.  

 

He looks back at Tessa just as her eyes move off of Annika and back to him.  “I’ll hurry,” she promises as she gives one last measuring look at her daughter’s profile and then disappears down the basement steps.

 

By the time she reaches the middle of the staircase she has to pause and put a hand to her chest, willing her racing heart to calm down.  She squeezes her eyes shut tight and takes a deep breath, drawing it in, holding it, and then letting it out very slowly.

 

_ What do you think, kiddo? _

 

Hearing him call someone else  _ kiddo _ , even their daughter...maybe even  _ especially _ their daughter, was some special kind of torture, and the easy way it’d rolled off his tongue made her feel as though it was something she would probably be hearing again in the future and should probably get used to.  

 

Trying not to dwell on it, she shakes off her unwelcome emotions and trudges the rest of the way down the stairs.  She snatches up her clothes from where she’d left them the night before and surveys the damage. Her jeans are in pretty good shape, once she shakes them out, but her shirt is wrinkled beyond wearability.  She slips off the sweatpants and tugs her jeans back into place, opting to hold onto the t-shirt she’s wearing for the time being. She knows it’s one of Scott’s old ones, and he’s never minded her stealing his clothes before.

 

She wonders, not for the first time, if he’s seeing anyone, if there’s a woman out there who might mind her leaving here in his clothes, despite the innocent nature of this particular sleep over.  They really do need to sit down and talk soon, she knows. They need to discuss what’s happened, where they are in their lives now, and what they each expect going forward. She’s just really not looking forward to having that conversation.  She wants the answers, she just doesn’t want to go through the process of getting them or of giving him the opportunity to ask questions of his own. She knows it won’t take a lot of prodding to dislodge the delicate scab that’s kept her from hemorrhaging these past three years.  

 

The truth is, having that conversation with him scares the hell out of her, because they never dealt with everything that was wrong between them  _ before _ Annika, and she doesn’t know how to keep those two conversations separate.  She’s pretty sure that once they open that door a whole Pandora’s Box of hurts and accusations are going to come pouring out.

 

_ Thankfully _ , she thinks, as she gathers the extra material of his t-shirt and knots it at the small of her back,  _ I don’t have to deal with that today _ .

 

She rolls her jeans up to mid-calf and leaves her feet bare for the time being.  She’s pretty sure she has an extra pair of runners in the back of her SUV.

 

Before she heads back upstairs to find Annika’s shoes and her sippy cup, she stops in the bathroom and finger-combs her hair back up into its messy bun and uses one of the unopened spare toothbrushes that Alma always keeps in the drawer next to the sink.   Then, satisfied that she’s presentable enough to make the drive back to Toronto, she heads back upstairs to the main part of the house.

 

Meanwhile, up in the kitchen, Scott has managed to settle Annika in the highchair that his mom keeps in a far corner of the kitchen for whatever grandchild is currently in need of using it.  He’d also tracked down his daughter’s purple, giraffe-covered sippy cup and put some juice in it for her, and now she’s happily munching on her Cheerios. She laughs every time one manages to get stuck to the side of her hand or her cheek, and he can’t help but laugh with her.

 

He sits gazing at her in wonder, completely in love with her already.  He takes in her little pink-tipped fingers and her perfect baby teeth. She’s dressed in pink and white, chevron patterned, footed pajamas that zip up the front, and he thinks there’s no possible way she could be any more adorable than she is right in this moment.

 

She proves him wrong less than thirty-seconds later when she holds out a soggy Cheerio and offers, “O’s, Daddy?”  

 

Nothing will ever get to him like hearing her call him that of her own accord.

 

“Thank you, Anna,” he says, trying out the nickname that Tessa uses for their daughter.  He leans forward and lets her feed him the moist piece of cereal and ruminates on the fact that he’s pretty sure he would have eaten a beetle just now if she’d offered it to him, just to see the happy smile that bursts onto her face when he says, “Mmm!  Those are some good O’s, kiddo.”

 

She offers him another, and this time he says, “You eat them!  That’s your cereal.”

 

“Anka O’s?” she asks, seriously, and he thinks he might die over how adorable her mispronunciation of her own name is.  

 

“Yep, Annika’s O’s,” he reiterates, reinforcing the correct pronunciation, because he’s pretty sure that’s what you’re supposed to do to help them learn.

 

Just then the basement door opens and Tessa steps back into the kitchen.  She’s still wearing his  _ Moir’s Skate Shop _ t-shirt, but now she has it tied somehow at the back, so that it appears more form-fitting, and she’s gathered all of her wild, wavy locks into a messy bun.  He misses this version of her. The less put-together, more  _ Tessa _ version.  He hadn’t seen a lot of her in the months leading up to her sudden departure from his life.  That last year, after Sochi, she’d become  _ very _ put-together, very quick with a sound bite when they were in public, and even when they’d been alone (before he’d pushed her away) she’d become very careful and measured in her interactions with him.  He knew it was a form of self-protection, born of the growing unease between them, not to mention the flare up of media attention following the Olympics, but he’d missed the less formal version of her, nonetheless, and he’s happy to see her in her natural state this morning, even if it’s not because she  _ chose _ to be with him in this unguarded, early morning state.

 

He watches her pad across the kitchen on bare feet, carrying Annika’s backpack in one hand and her own shoes in the other.  She glances at Annika and then back at him. “Oh, good,” she says. “You found her cup. Do you mind if I just run this stuff out to the car really quick, and I’ll be right back?”

 

“Of course not,” he says.  “Take your time. We’re fine,” he assures, glancing at Annika, who is still happily munching on her cereal.

 

Tessa returns several minutes later in a pair of black Adidas runners, sans backpack.   Her pant legs are rolled up into capris and she’s wearing her runners with no socks, and even in this thrown-together outfit, without a stitch of makeup, she manages to look gorgeous.  

 

“I’m pretty sure I have everything in the car.  I grabbed her shoes on my way out, and everything else was already in her bag, I think.”  As he watches, she bumps the toe of one shoe against the kitchen tile, nervously. “We really should be on our way.  It’s eight now, and it’ll take us two hours to get home,” she says, apologetically, looking back and forth between him and Annika.

 

“Well,” Scott says, dreading this part.  “If you missed anything I’ll just hang on to until next time,” he says, pointedly.  

 

She nods, smiling in agreement.  “Next time,” she promises. “Absolutely.”

 

“You ready to go bye-bye, Annika?” he asks, holding his hands out to her.  She’s tugging at the waist strap of the high chair before he can even finish his question.  “Hang on, there, kiddo,” he chuckles. “Your Mama’s not going anywhere without you, don’t worry.”  He lifts her free from the chair and turns to Tessa. “I’ll walk you guys out, if that’s okay,” he offers.

 

She nods.  “Yeah, thanks,” she says, eyeing him as he settles Annika onto his hip, easily.  

 

When they get to the car, she opens the door and he settles Anna into her seat and buckles her in with only minimal fumbling with the tiny buckles.  When he steps back, trying not to look too proud of himself, she looks duly impressed. “You’re kind of a natural, you know that?” she asks. Before he can reply, she adds, “I’m not sure why that surprises me, though.  I mean, you always were great with kids. I knew you’d be great with her, too, if you ever…” Her words trail off, and then she picks up her dropped sentence and finishes with, “It’s good to see. You with her, I mean. It’s good.”

 

“Yeah?” he asks, happy to hear her say so.  

 

“Yeah,” she affirms.  “A little scary,” she admits, and he can tell it’s taking a lot for her to be honest about this particular struggle.  “I’m not used to sharing her, yet, you know?” she asks, though it isn’t really a question, so he doesn’t offer an answer, just waits for her to continue.  “But it’s good. I’m glad she’s going to have you in her life.”

 

He notices that she does not say  _ I’m glad we’re going to have you in our lives _ .  He tries not to be disappointed by that fact.  He has to start somewhere, right? And reclaiming his place in Annika’s life seems like a pretty great place to start.  

 

He’ll have to work on  _ earning _ his way back into Tessa’s life. 

 

“I’m so grateful for her, Tess,” he says.  “Truly,” he adds, letting her hear the sincerity in his voice.  “And I will be there for her, in whatever way she needs, from now on.  I promise,” he says, with conviction.

 

“I know you will, Scott,” she says, and he can hear the honesty in her words.  He can tell she doesn’t doubt that he means what he says, but there is  _ something _ in her voice.  Something’s just not sitting quite right with her.  He can tell that, too. She’s unsure about something.  He just doesn’t know what it is that’s giving her pause, and as he watches her move to open her car door he realizes that now is not the time to delve into it.

 

He leans into the car and kisses Annika on the cheek.  “Bye, sweetheart,” he says, clearing his throat against the tightness there.  “See you soon, okay?” he asks, palming the top of her head, affectionately.

 

“Bye-bye!” she says, happily, completely unaware of the painful emotion churning in his gut.  “Bye-bye, Daddy!”

 

He blinks, and clenches his jaw, stepping back quickly and shutting the car door.  He stands with his arms folded across his chest and watches, silently, as Tessa closes her door and fastens her seatbelt.

 

He has an unpleasant sense of deja-vu and a sudden and equally unpleasant glimpse into his future.  He sees lots and lots of moments just like this one. Tessa packing up Annika and driving away, and him standing in some nebulous driveway, watching them go.  

 

Then, suddenly, the image morphs into Tess and some man, driving away with  _ his _ little girl and a carful of babies that aren’t his, and he balks.  

 

Before he can think about it, he steps forward, just as Tessa’s RDX pops into gear.  His palms grip her partially open window and he feels more than sees her brake. 

 

“Scott?” she questions, surprised.  “What are you doing?”

 

“We need to talk,” he says, and it comes out harsher than he’d intended.  “Please,” he adds, purposefully softening his tone.

 

“Scott, I can’t,” she says, sighing.  “I told you, I have to get back to the city.  I have a meeting today, and I--”

 

“Not right now,” he agrees, cutting her off.  “But soon. Maybe sometime this week? Do you think your mom would watch Annika?  Or Jordan, maybe?” he tries, hopeful. 

 

She seems to hesitate, unsure what to say.

 

“You and I need to talk, Tess,” he implores.  “You know we do.”

 

She sighs, again, this time in defeat.  “I know. You’re right,” she says. “I’ll see if Jordan can keep her one evening this week.  But you’ll have to come to me this time, okay? I have a busy week this week, and this drive is killing me.”

 

“I don’t mind making the drive at all,” he assures.  “The only reason I haven’t offered before is because you said you wanted to keep your place off limits to me, for the time being, which I understand,” he adds, before she can get defensive.  “I just didn’t want to push you on it or make you uncomfortable.”

 

She nods.  “Well, necessity dictates that we deviate from my initial plan, so, if you’re willing to come to me, then let me get with Jordan, and we’ll work something out for later this week, okay?”

 

“Okay,” he agrees, feeling both nervous and relieved.  This isn’t going to be an easy conversation to have, but he knows they need to have it.  Sooner rather than later.

 

“But right now, I really do have to leave,” she adds, glancing pointedly at where his hands still cling to her open window.

 

“Oh, right,” he says, grinning sheepishly, and letting go.  He steps back and shoves his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.  He watches Tessa back, expertly, down the long drive, waving a final time as she reaches the main road.

 

As they drive away, there’s not a damn thing he can do but watch them go.

  
  
  
  


++++


	12. TWELVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Conversation.

++++

  
  
  


A few days later, Tessa’s doorbell rings just as she’s getting out of the shower.  Almost a full minute later, she swings the heavy, wooden door open to reveal Jordan standing there, looking impatient.

 

“Finally,” her sister grumbles, making her way into the apartment.  “I take it your baby daddy’s not here yet,” she says, eyeing Tessa’s current state of undress.

 

“Ugh, I hate that term, Jordan, and you know it,” Tessa complains, glaring at her older sister, contemptuously.  “And no, he’s not, obviously,” she says, gesturing to her silky bathrobe and towel-covered hair. “He’s not supposed to be here for another hour,” she adds, just to clarify.  “By which time, I will be fully dressed, and you will be long gone.”

 

“You’re sure you don’t want me to stay?” Jordan offers, jokingly.  “I could mediate.”

 

“No thanks,” Tessa smiles, sarcastically, blinking exaggeratedly at her sister. 

 

“Spoilsport,” Jordan retorts, leaning in for a quick kiss on the cheek by way of greeting.

 

“Seriously, though, Jo,” Tessa says, switching gears.  “Thanks for doing this last minute. You know you and Mom are the only ones I’d leave Anna with, and Mom was just here at the beginning of the week, so I hated to ask her over again already.”

 

“Anytime, Tess,” Jordan, replies, slinging an arm around her sister’s shoulder and pulling her into a hug.  “You know I love Anna. I’d never turn down an opportunity to keep her overnight,” she says, seriously. “Which brings up a good point.  Why, exactly,  _ am _ I keeping her overnight?” Jordan asks, eyebrows raised.  “Are you expecting a sleepover out of this?”

 

“Jordan!” Tessa cries.  “No!” she states, emphatically.  “I’m just...I’m not sure how long this is going to take, and I don’t want to be dragging Annika around in the middle of the night.”  She pauses, her eyes meeting Jordan’s, nervously. “Honestly, Jo, I’m not sure what kind of shape I’m gonna be in at the end of this conversation,” she confesses, wringing her hands.  “And I don’t want Anna to be upset or scared if I’m upset. I just--”

 

“Hey,” Jordan interrupts her.  “Tess, I don’t want her to be upset either.  I don’t want  _ you _ to be upset, but I know this is a conversation you two need to have, so if me keeping Annika makes it easier, then I’m here for you, okay?” she says.  “Always. You know that.”

 

“I do know that,” Tessa agrees, smiling, gratefully.

 

“Good,” Jordan says, nodding.  “Now where’s my niece?”

 

Just then Annika rounds the corner into the living room, hobbling along comically in Tessa’s favorite magenta heels.  “Jojo!” she shrieks, stumbling and falling onto the plush carpet in her haste to reach her aunt, leaving a trail of discarded shoes and costume jewelry in her wake.  

 

“Toepick!” Jordan, gushes, dropping to her knees to greet her niece.  “Are you ready to go bye-bye with Aunt Jo?” she asks, her eyes open wide in exaggerated, though not at all insincere, excitement.

 

“Byebye Anjo!” Annika agrees, readily, her arms already wrapping securely around Jordan’s neck.

 

“You know she’s gonna hate you for that nickname one day, right?” Tessa asks, smiling fondly at the open affection between her sister and daughter.

 

“No she won’t,” Jordan argues, rising to her feet with Annika in her arms.  “I’m her favorite, she’ll never be angry with me for anything. Besides, admit it, Tess...how many times a day do you trip over this rambunctious little beast?”

 

“More times than I can count,” she acknowledges, grinning.  “Come on, you little shoe thief,” she says, tugging on Annika’s bare foot.  “Let’s go get your stuff together, so you and Aunt Jojo can get out of here.”

 

***

 

By the time Jordan makes it out the door with Annika, Tessa only has about twenty minutes to finish getting ready.  She changes clothes three times, each outfit more casual than the last, until she finally makes a decision. She starts with a jumpsuit, something that makes her feel powerful and in control, something she’d wear to work, but then she realizes how formal it looks, and vetoes it almost immediately.  Next she changes into jeans and a soft, short-sleeved cashmere sweater, but this outfit, while less formal and not at all inappropriate for the evening ahead, still doesn’t feel quite right. Finally, she tugs on some black leggings and an oversized sweatshirt that says  _ Be the change you want to see in the world _ .  She frets that this outfit is too casual, but then quickly reminds herself that she isn’t dressing for Scott.  This isn’t that type of evening. She’s dressing for her own comfort, and  _ she _ wants leggings and a sweatshirt, so...  

 

Truthfully, she would prefer the first outfit and that they meet in a public place and not in her home, but given the topics she assumes they will be covering tonight, privacy is probably in their best interest.  So, if they’re going to do this here, then she at least wants to be comfortable. So, leggings it is.

 

She leaves her hair down.  It has air dried into soft waves, and though it’s a little full right now, she knows it will relax over the next couple of hours.  She swipes on some mascara and a touch of lip gloss and calls it done. She’s not dressing up for him. Truly, the tiny bit of makeup she’s applied makes her feel less vulnerable than meeting him completely fresh-faced.  She’s not sure why that is, but she doesn’t question it, simply does what she needs to do in order to feel prepared, or as prepared as she can possibly be, for the evening ahead.

 

She sets a bottle of wine to chill and puts on a pot of coffee, unsure which beverage the evening will call for, and then she waits for him to arrive.

 

It doesn’t take long.  About fifteen minutes later her doorbell rings, and though she’s momentarily tempted to remain curled up on her couch and pretend she’s not home, she eventually drags herself to her feet and answers the door.

 

Scott stands on the other side looking handsome and put-together in dark jeans, brand new sneakers, and a vintage Tragically Hip t-shirt from the year he was born.  His hair is shorter, like he’s gotten a trim sometime this week, and with her feet bare he seems to loom over her just a touch more than usual. He looks like a man standing there on her doorstep, and not at all like the guy she’d been accustomed to in years past.  Her stomach gives a nervous twist, and she can’t even tell if it’s a good or bad feeling.

 

_ Wine it is _ , she thinks.

 

“Come on in,” she says, and gestures to the living room.  “Sit wherever you like. I’m going to get us something to drink.  Is wine okay?” she asks, already moving toward the kitchen.

 

“Yeah, wine’s fine with me,” he replies, agreeably, as he takes a seat at one end of the couch.

 

When she returns a moment later with a glass of wine in each hand, she finds him looking around her living room, curiously.  “It’s different than I expected,” he admits, as she hands him his glass and takes a seat at the opposite end of the couch. 

 

She turns to face him, pulling her feet up and sitting cross-legged, her back against the armrest.  “How so?” she asks, interested to hear his perspective.

 

“It’s less  _ white _ ,” he starts.  “More lived in in, which I expected with Annika, but...it’s still you, somehow.  It’s still sort of familiar, in a way, I guess,” he says, his eyes finally landing back on hers.  “I don’t think I expected that,” he admits, softly.

 

“Am I so different?” she asks, trying to figure out his various expectations and interpretations of her.  

 

“Not really,” he says.  “At least, not for the most part, I don’t think, but in some ways...yes,” he admits, taking a sip of his wine before placing it, carefully, on the coaster he finds strategically placed on the coffee table in front of him.

 

“How so?” she asks.

 

“You’re...more grounded, I guess?” he theorizes.  “Less...extrinsically focused?”

 

“What does  _ that _ mean?” she demands, slightly offended.  “That I was some sort of self-absorbed flake before?”

 

“Not at all,” he denies, shaking his head.  “But you were...enamoured with the world. With travel, with school, with social media…it was all so important to you.  No one place seemed big enough to contain you.” Back then she’d always seemed to be looking for the next big thing. The next show, the next sponsorship deal, the next trip.  It wasn’t that it was wrong, it’s just that she seems more settled now. He sees the change in her, that’s all.

 

“I was young, Scott,” she huffs.  “I didn’t want to be  _ contained _ .  I was figuring out my life, and a lot of those things changed by necessity, not because they were just suddenly less important to me.”  Although, to be fair, those things did become less important almost the instant Anna was born, the rest of the world seeming to fall away as she focused solely on her daughter.

 

He sighs and looks up at her ceiling, choosing his words, carefully, before replying.  “I wasn’t trying to...it wasn’t a dig, Tess, it was just an observation,” he says, placatingly.  “And maybe  _ contain _ wasn’t the right word.  Maybe  _ satisfy _ is a better choice?  You never seemed satisfied to be in one place.  Anyway, I just meant that you seem more content now to just  _ be _ , regardless of where you are or what’s going on around you.”

 

Tessa eyes him, warily.  “I think we need to establish some talking points.”

 

He snorts and nods his acceptance.

 

“What?” she asks, slightly annoyed now.

 

“Nothing, just... _ that _ is classic Tessa,” he points out.   _ Her need to control a potentially uncomfortable situation has obviously not changed _ , he thinks, amused.

 

“I just mean, we need to figure out…what it is that we’re trying to figure out,” she finishes.  “Going into this conversation, I mean. Because I feel like we could easily get lost in it, you know?”

 

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he says.  “And it’s probably a good idea...just to keep us on track,” he concedes.

 

She nods, chewing her bottom lip in an uncharacteristically nervous way.  “So, what are you hoping to accomplish here to today or...or figure out?” she asks, forcing her eyes to maintain contact with his.

 

“I guess,” he starts, haltingly.  “I want to know...I want to talk through what happened back then,” he manages, before breaking eye contact and looking down at his hands.  He twirls a solid silver ring there, focusing on the repetitive movement for several seconds before continuing. “I want to understand why it happened, so that maybe we don’t make the same mistakes again this time around,” he finishes, finally meeting her eyes again.  

 

She stares at him for several seconds, her brain seeming to catch on the words  _ this time around _ .  “We...we aren’t in a relationship...this time around,” she protests, weakly.

 

“We weren’t in a relationship, then,” he counters.  “We are now, though, Tessa...we always will be, to a certain extent, because we have Annika to consider, yeah?” he clarifies.

 

“Right...no, you’re...you’re absolutely right,” she agrees, feeling stupid for misinterpreting his words.  “Okay, what else?” she asks, plunging ahead.

 

“I want to know where we stand now,” he says, honestly.  “I mean, I want to know what’s going on in your life, and what your plans are for the immediate future.”

 

“And what that means going forward, right?” she asks, finding that she wants the same answers from him.

 

“Yes, exactly,” he agrees.

 

“Okay,” she nods.   _ I can do this _ , she thinks.  “Anything else?” 

 

“Is that not enough for one evening,” he asks, jokingly.

 

She can’t help but chuff out a small laugh in return, because,  _ seriously _ .  

 

“Okay,” she agrees, nodding and squaring her shoulders.  “Then let’s start with...back then,” she says, before taking a moment to think, to prepare her thoughts before sharing them.  

 

He doesn’t rush her, just sits expectantly, waiting for her to begin.

 

Finally, after nearly a full minute has passed in complete silence, she starts to speak.  “I think that I was scared...after Sochi. No, I  _ know _ that I was,” she admits, nodding as if to encourage herself to go on.  “I didn’t know what I wanted to do or who I was going to be without you as my partner, but I knew our skating career was coming to an end and that that was something I needed to figure out.  So, I asked you for some space, so I could do that, but then I felt...punished,” she says, dropping her eyes into her lap. “You just sort of spiraled out of control, and I felt like it was my fault, somehow...like you blamed me for your own lack of direction.  Like you wanted me to help you, and were mad at me when I couldn’t, but…” her hands go palms up, in a helpless gesture. “I was struggling, too, Scott,” she admits, looking back up at him, gauging his reaction. “And I couldn’t even help myself right then. I didn’t have any answers to give you.”

 

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says, eyebrows raised, serious.  “And I’m sorry if I made you feel like it was, but Tess, I had spent seventeen years with you right there next to me, and it was pretty fucking terrifying to imagine you just suddenly being gone from my life.”  He remembers. It’d been overwhelming in a way that he hadn’t seen coming until it’d suddenly hit him, and then he’d been drowning, panicking, flailing for something, anything, to grab onto. Unfortunately, what he found to grab hold of was a series of bad life choices.

 

“I wasn’t going to be gone from your life, Scott, I was just trying to--” she starts.

 

“Well, that’s what it felt like back then, to me,” he interrupts her.  “You had all these plans, and not a single one of them included me, and I knew you didn’t need me to make any one of your dreams come true.  But I…” he trails off.  _  I didn’t know if I could say the same _ , he thinks.  “I didn’t know what I was going to do or who I wanted to be, either, but the difference between us was, you had all these options, and you just needed to make a decision, whereas I...I didn’t have the first clue.  So, when you started pulling away, wanting space, I just...I didn’t handle it well,” he acknowledges, and it’s not an easy pill for him to swallow, but he does. “Obviously, we were both being idiots because we’ve managed our professional lives just fine without each other, so…” he tosses out, trying to downplay their importance to each other in those first fragile, post-retirement months.

 

“You scared me, Scott,” she says, refusing to get derailed.  “You  _ really _ scared me back then,” she says, reaching out a hand and touching his knee.  He’s turned toward her on the couch without realizing it, and his head snaps up at the unexpected touch of her hand, his eyes meeting hers, guiltily.  “I don’t think you realize how much, even now.” She pulls her hand back, slowly, leaving it to rest in her own lap. “I just...I could see you spinning out of control, and I was terrified that something was going to happen to you, and then you were just going to be gone.”  

 

She picks at her cuticle, an old nervous habit from their Canton days, and he itches to slip his hand over hers, to still the destructive movement, but instead he tries to remain focused on her words.  He knows they are important and that he needs to hear them. “Like, I’d look up at my life one day and this  _ place _ , this huge place where you had been would just be empty, only it wouldn’t be because we’d had a fight or my legs had quit working again and we just didn’t know what to say to each other anymore--it would be because you were  _ gone _ , for real this time.  And it would be final...it would be forever,” she whispers.  “You were acting like such an idiot, Scott, with the drinking and the reckless behavior…” she accuses, and he hears anger in her voice for the first time.

 

He tries not to let his temper flare in response to her accusatory tone.  Yes, he’d been young and stupid, he acknowledges that, but he’d been scared, too, and just trying to figure things out.  He clenches his jaw and remains silent, allowing her to continue. He knows from years of experience that once he gets Tessa talking it’s better to just shut up and listen, because once she clams up, that will be it, and no amount of pleading will get her talking again.

 

“But then...then I got sick that weekend, and you still showed up for me,” she says, a touch of surprise in her voice, even now.  “Just like you always had, and it was like...you were still you.” Her eyes stay on his, wide and green. “We were still us.” 

 

“We  _ were _ still us, Tess,” he says, emphatically.  “We were just going through some shit, ya know?  That’s what young people do...they act like idiots while they figure shit out.”

 

“Maybe…” she agrees, not quite sure if she believes that or not.  Unfortunately, if that was the case, they’d never gotten a chance to figure their shit out.  “But then I had that awful dream, and it wasn’t the first one, but it was the  _ worst _ .  It felt  _ so _ real,” she says, shivering even now in the comfortable climate of her apartment.  “And even when I woke up, for just a minute, I thought,” she pauses, swallowing hard against the lump that rises into her throat.  Her eyes burn, and she blinks, fighting back the unwelcome surge of emotion. “I thought you were gone,” she whispers. “And then you were suddenly there, and I just…”  She looks up at him then and decides to be braver than she’s ever been with him before, braver than she ever was back then, and just admit the truth--for them, for Annika, so that they can move forward.  If she’d learned nothing else from therapy these last few years, she’s learned the importance of honesty and accountability. “I loved you,” she admits, her eyes wide and wet as they meet his own. “And I didn’t want to waste any more time trying to figure out what that meant or if it was smart or...or if you loved me, too.”  She takes a deep breath, trying to regulate her breathing and her erratic heartbeat. “I just needed to not let you hurt yourself anymore without showing you how I felt,” she finishes. “That’s...that’s what happened back then.”

 

He remembers that night, how upset she’d been, but then later, how open and  _ sure _ and loving.  And she’d just admitted out loud that she’d loved him.  

 

She’d loved him.  

 

His heart clenches in his chest, because A) hearing her say  _ loved _ in the past tense had gutted him with the sharp efficiency of a bowie knife, and B) she’d loved him back then, and he hadn’t known, and he’d let it, let  _ her _ , slip away.

 

“But then what happened?” he asks, desperate to understand her thought process back then, her motivation.  “In the morning, what happened? You just changed your mind?” he demands, trying to keep the hurt and anger out of his voice and failing miserably.  “Because you just  _ left  _ me there, without a word, a note, anything,” he accuses.

 

“I didn’t change my mind, Scott,” she defends.  “I-I panicked.” 

 

He waits a beat and when she doesn’t say more he says, “I’d waited for you, Tess.  For  _ years _ .”  And he’s being brutally honest now, laying all his cards on the table.  “After that night in my parents’ basement when we were kids, we just...we just shut that down.  We never talked about that part of us, but I never for a second forgot that it was there.” He gives her a second to let that sink in, watches her blink in surprise.  “Over the years, people started to assume maybe we just didn’t feel that way about each other, but I  _ knew _ that was bullshit.”  He ducks his head, making her meet his eyes for this.  “So, maybe it was naive, but I...I waited for you to be ready...for us.”  He watches her eyes close, his words hitting their mark. “I waited through your  _ no boyfriends _ phase, I waited through that asshole you lost your virginity to, I waited through fucking  _ Fedor _ .”  As he says the words, he’s realizing the truth in them.  He’d never realized before that he’d waited all that time for her, but he had...he’d waited for her for years, biding his time with relationships that never really had a hope in hell of succeeding, because he’d been in love with her for as long as he could remember.  When her eyes open and focus on his once again, he brings his point home. “So, when we had sex that night...I thought that was you coming to a decision. I thought you were finally ready. And I was all in, T.” He drops his final card onto the table between them. “I was ready for  _ everything _ with you.”

 

“Scott,” she whispers, eyes shining with emotion.  “I didn’t...I didn’t know.” She pauses, and as he watches her expression turn apologetic, he feels sick.  “For me...that wasn’t a decision, Scott, it was a reaction,” she says, softly. “It was...it was desperate and impulsive.”

 

He looks hurt now, he can tell just by the change in the expression on her face.

 

“Hey,” she says, quietly, reaching out to take his hand.  She hesitates, momentarily, but then threads her fingers through his and squeezes, reassuringly.  “It wasn’t a mistake, though. I  _ meant _ it,” she says, imploringly.  She struggles to find the right words to try and explain to him all that’d she’d been feeling during that time in her life.  It was a lot, but if they are having this conversation, then they are  _ having _ this conversation.  “I’d been so scared for you for that entire year, and that night I just...I couldn’t take the chance of losing you and never knowing what it was like to really  _ be _ with you...not because I was too afraid of us to even try.”  She goes quiet for a moment, and then, “But that doesn’t mean I was any more prepared for you and me than I was at fourteen.”  She turns their clasped hands over and uses her eyes to trace the prominent veins in his wrist and forearm. “Scott, back then, when we were kids, closing that door was about protecting myself and  _ you _ , because...I knew if I didn’t stop us from doing something stupid, no one would.”  She struggles to sort through her own muddled thoughts about that time. “I didn’t feel...protected back then, I guess.  I mean, I know our parents loved us, but they weren’t  _ there _ , anymore, not for the day-to-day stuff.  They didn’t see how  _ grown _ we were when we were away from them, how Marina pushed us, how our own fans and our peers pushed us, to be... _ more _ .  I trusted you, and pretty much only you, and that made it so dangerous and scary for me, because I knew how easy it would be to slip up and ruin everything, for both of us.  So, yeah...at fourteen, and fifteen, and eighteen, and pretty much every age between 2003 and 2015, it scared the hell out of me, to be with you like that. Physically, emotionally.  There was just so much history tied up between us, so much to lose, so much riding on our partnership, our friendship. At first, when we were younger, I was worried about our Olympic careers and our reputations, but by the time we...by the time I stayed with you that night, it was  _ us _ .  I was terrified of losing us.”  She’s baring herself to him right now in a way that borders on excruciating, but she owes it to both of them, to who they used to be to each other...and to their daughter.  “We were already on such shaky ground,” she continues. “And rather than repairing that and making the decision to try to be together and going into a relationship with eyes wide open, I felt like we’d just gambled it all without stopping to think about it for even a single second.  Like it didn’t  _ matter _ .”  Her voice is quiet now, but fierce.  “I’d spent the last decade protecting this bond that we had, that was so special to me, and then in a moment I’d just...” she stops talking suddenly, her fingers uncoiling from his, palms falling open, as if to set something free.  

 

_ Poof _ , her empty, upturned palms seemed to say.  

 

_ Gone _ .

 

“And, so, you panicked,” he nods, finally understanding.

 

“I panicked,” she whispers.  “And by the time I realized what I’d done, and how it must have made you feel, you’d shut me out.  And I tried to see you, to apologize, but you just...you absolutely cut me off.” She reigns in her anger, trying not to let it get the better of her.  After all, they’d both behaved badly. She needs him to know how he’d made her feel, though. “I didn’t deserve that, Scott. I didn’t  _ know _ how you felt all those years.  I didn’t know you’d been…” she pauses, struggling to say the words.  “Waiting for me,” she finishes, a tinge of guilt coloring the last. “All I knew was that I’d just had sex with my very best friend in the entire world, had possibly ruined  _ everything _ , and that when I took a single day to be mixed up about that, he pushed me away and cut me out of his life.”

 

He can see the hurt in her eyes, and he knows he handled that whole situation so poorly.  

 

“I’m sorry for that, Tess,” he says, sincerely.  “I was an idiot,  _ obviously _ , but I was so hurt when I thought you didn’t feel the same way I felt.  That night...I imagined a whole future in that night,” he says, trying to make her see the scope of what he’d seen back then.  “And I was angry with you for dangling it there and then snatching it away without even talking to me about it, and...it took me awhile to mourn the possibility of us, of what we might’ve been together,” he confesses, sofly.

 

“If you’d just talked to me you wouldn’t have had to mourn anything!” she bursts out, frustrated.

 

“What?” he asks, shocked.  He’d never stopped to think about that, really.  That maybe, after whatever time she’d needed, she might have gotten there, to the possibility of them, on her own.

 

“I--I wanted to try, Scott,” she confesses, and he can tell she’s dragging the words out of herself.  “I was still scared, but...I wanted to try, with you.”

 

“I was a fucking idiot,” he mumbles, scrubbing both hands over his face and tilting his head up to the ceiling.

 

“But then I couldn’t get through to you,” he hears her continue, despite the fact that he can’t bring himself to look at her.  “And then…” he hears her take a deep, shuddering breath. “Then I was pregnant, and you weren’t talking to me, and it was like everything I’d tried to avoid happening for all those years, everything I’d been so careful to avoid...one night, and it all happened anyway.”  

 

When she continues, her voice is nearly inaudible.  “I let down my parents, myself, my country... _ you _ .  And I lost us.  And I needed you and...and you didn’t even want our…”  She goes silent then, and when he snaps his head down to look at her, she has the heels of both hands pressed against her eyes and he can see the tendons in her neck pulled taut as she struggles to swallow down a sudden surge of emotion.

 

“Hey, don’t say that,” he says, his fingers encircling her wrists and gently pulling her hands away from her face.  He doesn’t know which part of the bullshit she’s been telling herself to address first, but he decides to start with the part that calls his love for his child into question.  “You know that’s not true.” Her eyes are red and wet when they meet his, but she’s not actively crying.

 

“I know,” she whispers, nodding.  “And I...I  _ understand _ what happened with...with the girl and the phone and whatever, but those emotions, Scott...the memories of them, they don’t just evaporate,” she says, trying to explain.  “I’m not  _ mad _ at you, for what happened, but I don’t think you’ll ever be able to understand what it felt like to be...to be carrying this baby that I loved  _ so _ desperately,” she says, her hand dropping unconsciously to her belly.  “This baby that was a part of you and me, and to think that you didn’t love her, didn’t even want her to exist.”  She shakes her head. “I know it isn’t true, that it never was, and I’m so  _ relieved _ to know that, but it was real to me for three years, and it’s just going to take time for those emotions to fade.”  She twists her hands around in his loose grasp, so that they’re both left clutching each other’s wrists, lightly. “And you’re just going to have to be okay with giving me that time, because I can’t make myself feel any differently than I do.”

 

She runs her thumbs lightly along his wrists, in a gesture meant to soften her next words.  “So, I’m not mad at you...but it still scares me that you’ll get spooked by something in our life, in this big scary life where we have a child now that depends on us, and you’ll start...drinking again or...or being careless with your own safety.  And maybe that’s not fair, but it’s the truth, and it’s all I’ve got.” When he looks like he might argue, she rushes ahead. “I trust you with Anna, implicitly, Scott, I do…” she promises, and she means that with her whole heart. “But I don’t think I trust you with  _ you _ .”  She takes a deep breath, preparing to bring this epic monologue home.  “I learned to get by on my own, and it was...it was so hard, and it scares me to...to think about allowing myself to need you in my life again..to think about allowing  _ her _ to need you.”  When he starts to interject, she raises her hand to silence him one last time.  “I won’t stand in the way of your relationship with her, I promise...I’m happy to let you love her and be in her life as much as you want to,” she vows.  “But please don’t ask me to need you in mine, not the way I did back then.” Finally finished, she lets her hand fall away from his.

 

He tries to swallow against the painful lump in his throat.  He wants to fight her on this point. He wants to scream at her that it’s not fair to shut him out like this, but he knows he hurt her, and he knows Tessa.  It will take time and action to restore her faith in him, and nothing else will suffice. If he wants a future with her, which he does, he always did, then he has to give her the space she’s asking for, and not punish her, as he did in the past, for asking for it.  She’s giving him Annika. She’s trusting him with her, at least. He just has to focus on that for now, and show her that he’s here...that after all this time, he’s  _ still _ all in.  “Fair enough,” he agrees.  “For now,” he adds, the caveat falling softly and involuntarily from his lips.

 

She opens her mouth, and for a moment he thinks she will protest, but at the last second she seems to change her mind and remains silent.

 

“I guess that brings us to where we are now, then,” he says.  “And where we want things to go?”

 

“With regard to Annika,” she acknowledges, carefully, nodding.

 

He wants to balk at her refusal to discuss  _ them _ in the present tense, but they’ve laid a lot on the table here tonight.  __

 

_ Fight for her, not with her _ , he hears his mother’s voice whispering to him.  

 

It doesn’t all have to be solved tonight, and she’s going to find that he’s more solid these days than she thinks he is.  He was always able to be for her what he wasn’t able to be for himself. Maybe that’s because of how they’d grown up together, and maybe that’s just the man he always would have been, but the result is the same.  He will show up for her and for his daughter, every time, because they are his family, and he loves them, and he will do right by them. Eventually, she’ll see it, and she’ll start to have faith in him again. He has to believe that.

 

“Right, so…” he begins.  “I guess I want to know, if you’re seeing anyone, if there’s anyone in your life right now.”

 

“No,” she says, simply, choosing to keep her answer strict and to the point.  It feels too vulnerable to admit there hasn’t been anyone in her life in that way since him.  It reveals too much, she thinks, so, she turns the question back on him. “Are you seeing anyone?”

 

“No,” he admits, his reply equally succinct.  There’d been a couple of women, here and there, over the past few years, but no one significant, and eventually the sex hadn’t been worth the effort of attracting a woman, establishing a mutual desire to hook up, and then avoiding any kind of ongoing attachment.  The truth is, it’s been awhile.

 

She nods, her expression unreadable.  

 

“So...what are you hoping for, with Annika...as far as visitation?” she asks, trying not to let her nerves get the better of her.

 

“As far as custody, you mean?” he corrects, needing to assert his desire to care equally for their child.  As he watches, her face turns pale white, and a visible tremor slips up her spine. She opens her mouth to speak and then closes it without ever uttering a sound.  

 

He realizes immediately how that sounded and wants to kick himself.

 

Tears fill her eyes, and she blinks in shock.  “You want to…take…?” 

 

“No!” he rushes to reassure her.  “Of course I don’t want to take Annika from you.  That was...it was just a poor choice of words, but, God, Tessa, what kind of asshole do you think I am?”  He’s absolutely horrified that she could think so little of him, regardless of how it’d sounded. “Even after everything that’s happened, you have to know me better than  _ that _ ,” he says, hurt audible in his voice.

 

“You’re right,” she agrees, still appearing visibly shaken.  “You are...I’m sorry, I just...that’s the worst thing that could ever happen to me,” she whispers.  “Losing her.” She suddenly looks very small, sitting there at the other end of the couch, rubbing her palms against the tops of her thighs, nervously.  “It’s just the first place my mind went. And I just...I can see how much you love her already, and I...I’m sorry, I should have known better. I  _ do _ know you better than that,” she attempts to reassure him, though given her obviously agitated state, it’s hardly convincing.  “It’s just, even partial custody...that’s such a scary thought…” 

 

Her breaths are quick and shallow, and he can tell he’s thrown her for a loop.

 

“I do love her,” he admits, and just saying the words causes his heart to swell in his chest until he can scarcely breathe around the enormity of it.  “Already...and  _ so _ much.  But I just meant...I want something official,” he clarifies, trying to set her mind at ease a little bit.  “I mean, Tess, what if something were to happen to you?” he asks, trying to make a point, but only succeeding in making his own stomach heave at the thought.  “Her future needs to be secure, right?” he tries again. “I’m not...I want time with her, but I’d never try to take her from you,” he promises.

 

“No, you’re absolutely right,” she agrees.  “It should be official. I mean, your name is on her birth certificate, but I wouldn’t want there to be any question, if...if something happened to me.”  Her hands have stopped moving and instead, they sit motionless, gripping the outside of her thighs, her fingers tucked tightly behind the bends of her knees.  “Um, we can...we can set up an appointment with a l-lawyer,” her voice breaks off here, and he’s horrified when she looks down at her lap just in time for two fat tear drops to splash against her leggings, leaving twin dark splotches on the tops of her thighs.

 

“Tess,” he whispers, and watches as she bends forward slightly over her lap.  “Dammit, don’t cry,” he groans, regretfully, scooting toward her on the couch until the top of her bowed head bumps against his chest.  He runs his hands up and down her arms, comfortingly. “I said I wasn’t going to fight you for custody, and I meant it, okay?”

 

“Sorry,” she whispers, her voice strained.  “I believe you I just...the idea of handing her back and forth...it just…” she manages, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath.   _“Ugh_ _fuck_ ,” she cries, brokenly.  “It breaks my heart,” she admits, shaking her head from side to side, her loose hair slipping against his t-shirt.  Tessa hardly ever curses, pretty much never, in his experience, so, if it hadn’t been before, the depth of her distress is more than apparent now.  “I just never wanted that for her,” she mumbles, face still pointing toward her lap. “I want you to spend time with her and be able to have her with you sometimes, it’s just…” he feels her trembling beneath his hands, where they still circle her biceps, lightly.  “This is going to be so hard. I’ve never...I’ve never spent the night away from her,” she says, and she barely manages the last of it before a small sob forces its way past her lips, and she’s pulling away from him and standing on shaky legs.

 

She tries to turn away from him, but he’s right there, having risen with her, so, she tips her chin up, focusing on the high ceilings, trying to hide the hot tears she can feel slipping from the corners of her eyes and pooling in her ears.  She feels his arms go around her and his chest bump against hers as he scoops her up until her chin rests on his shoulder and her socked feet go up on tiptoe. Her arms hang limply at her sides and she presses her lips together, tightly, careful not to allow any more sounds to break free.

 

“Hey,” he says, gently, one hand dropping to her back, sweeping up and down in a comforting gesture while the other one palms the base of her skull, holding her in place against his shoulder.  “It’s gonna be okay,” he whispers. “I’m not going to do anything to hurt you, or her. Or me,” he adds, remembering her earlier concerns. “Okay?” he asks, waiting until he feels her nod, weakly, in response before he continues.  “And, yes, eventually I’d like for my daughter to be able to come stay with me, but it’s not going to be tomorrow or even next week, alright? I’m not going to push either of you,” he soothes. “We have time to work this all out, and we will,” he says, swaying her slightly from side to side without really realizing he’s doing it.  “We’re going to be okay, okay?” he says, softly, his lips brushing the shell of her ear and coming away salty and wet. “I promise you. We can do this, kiddo, you and me.”

 

She squeezes her eyes shut, tightly, at that, forcing a fresh wash of tears down her cheeks.  

 

His words are exactly what she didn’t know she needed to hear.  

 

She doesn’t want to need him, doesn’t want to be dependent on him for anything after it had taken so much effort for her to be okay on her own.  But...for the first time, it feels like she isn’t in this parenting thing alone, like they’re in it together...and it’s such a relief.

 

Yes, her mom and Jordan had been there from the beginning, but  _ she _ is Annika’s parent, and it isn’t the same as having another parent there, equally responsible, equally invested.  She feels herself wilt a little under the powerful wash of relief she’s suddenly feeling. Sharing Anna will be hard, but if she’s honest with herself, there’s no one else on earth she’d rather share her with, and she trusts Scott when he says he won’t push for too much, too soon.

 

Slowly, her panic recedes, and she comes back to herself.  He’s holding her in the middle of her silent living room, and they’re swaying from side to side, moving to their own rhythm.  In the complete absence of music, she feels like it should be awkward, but it just feels safe. Safe, and so familiar, because it’s him. After all this time, it’s so easy to just be like this, to be  _ them _ .

 

He slips his hand from the base of her skull to the side of her neck, and then he leans in and presses a kiss to the soft skin where her neck and shoulder meet.  It’s chaste and sweet. “It’s still me, T,” he whispers against her skin. 

 

And it is.  

 

It’s him, and it’s her...with Ilderton and Kitchener and Canton and a million grains of rice and one little girl between them.  

 

But they’re still them, and there’s something to be said for that, she thinks.

 

++++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! This story has officially reached 100 pages in my Word doc! :O 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your continued support! Every comment and kudos means the world!


	13. THIRTEEN

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Over the next couple of weeks, they add new Moirs at each visit.  Danny and his family, first, and then Charlie and his family after them.  Scott’s Aunt Carol and Uncle Paul and later Cara, Leanne, and Sheri and their families.  Annika had taken it all in stride and been over the moon with all of the attention. She’d been positively beside herself with glee over all of the cousins she’d suddenly acquired and had developed a particular affinity for Danny’s son, who’s only about six months older than her.

 

After the dinner at Alma and Joe’s to introduce Danny and his family to Annika, Danny had pulled Tessa aside at the first opportunity to apologize profusely for encouraging her to “give Scott some time” three years ago.  She’d assured him that when he’d given her that particular piece of advice she hadn’t known about Annika yet, and that he was in no way responsible for the miscommunication between her and Scott and their subsequent lack of communication about their daughter.  He’d looked so relieved she’d wanted to hug him, but she’d held back--once upon a time, she would have, but too much time had passed, and she simply didn’t feel that level of comfort with him anymore. In the end, her hesitation had been unfounded, though, because in the next instant she’d found herself swept up into a tight Danny Moir Hug.  “It hasn’t been the same without ya, Big Hands,” he’d said, fondly, against the crown of her head. “I’ve missed ya.” Then, pulling back, he’d added, “We all have.” Nodding his head toward Annika, he’d muttered, “And I still can’t believe you and Scotty did  _ that _ .”  She’d laughed out loud then at his obvious mix of awe, pride, and distinct discomfort.  

 

And just like that, it’d felt like old times again.  

 

It’d been the same with Charlie and the others.  Everyone just seemed to accept Annika’s existence and keep right on going as if she’d always been there, as if Tessa herself had never been away.  She suspects Alma and Joe have something to do with that, and she appreciates whatever conversations they’re having with people before she and Annika arrive for each round of  _ hi-this-is-your-niece/great niece/cousin _ .  Each meeting has gone surprisingly smoothly, and she’s extremely grateful to The Moirs for that.

 

It’s due to these regular Ilderton trips, Tessa assumes, that she finds Annika peering up at her from the bath, expectantly, having just uttered, “Bye bye Daddy house?”  Followed closely by, some gibberish that included the words “Nana” and “Papa” and something that sounded remarkably like “turkey leg” though she doubts that whatever her daughter was actually trying to articulate had anything to do with the anatomy of poultry.

 

“We’re gonna see Daddy tomorrow, Bean,” Tessa says, lifting her daughter’s wriggling, wet body from the bath and standing her on the bath mat.  Wrapping her in a plush, fresh-smelling towel, she tells her, “We’re picking him up from the airport. We’re going to see the airplanes.”

 

“Airpanes?” Annika asks, seriously, her little brow furrowed.

 

“Mmmhmm,” Tessa confirms as she dries her daughter’s hair, gently, before toweling off the rest of her body and scooping her up into her arms to take her to dress her in her pajamas.  “Remember, Daddy had to go on an airplane to Alberta? For work?” she asks, knowing her daughter only vaguely understands what she’s saying. Once in Anna’s room she slips her into tiny, black-and-yellow striped, footed pajamas.  Tessa smiles fondly. These are her favorite pajamas. They make her daughter look like an adorable little bumble bee.

 

“Daddy go work,” Annika confirms, nodding her agreement.

 

“Yep, so we’ll see him tomorrow, but right now it’s time for you to go night-night, k?”  Tessa says, lifting her daughter into her arms and settling them both into the sage-colored glider next to the window in Annika’s room.

 

Annika immediately snuggles against Tessa chest, her cheek pressed against her breast, a throwback to when she was still nursing that’s never quite gone away.  Tessa thinks it’s probably a comfort thing now, and she thinks that it kind of is for her, too. Annika’s fingers sneak up to Tessa’s chin and then gently tap her lips.  “Sing me, Mama,” she mumbles, her voice already whispery with sleep. She then drops her hand down to twist her fingers into the ends of Tessa’s hair where it falls loosely over her shoulders.

 

Tessa hums softly for a few bars and then whisper-sings,  _ hushabye, don’t you cry, go to sleepy little baby... _

 

As she croons softly to her daughter, who is fading fast, her body growing ever heavier as sleep approaches, she thinks about the day to come.  Scott had mentioned last week when Carol and Paul’s girls had brought their families out to Alma and Joe’s to meet Annika that he had to fly to Alberta for five days for a skating competition with the ice dance pair he’s been coaching part-time.  It’s part-time work for him because they’re his only pair, and they only skate four to five hours a day. He spends the rest of his time working at the skate shop, but he’s still their sole coach, so when it comes to competitions he has to be there for them.  He’d told her that it works out well for him because he can pretty much come and go as he pleases with regard to the skate shop as long as he makes sure things are covered on that end, if and when he needs to be gone for any length of time. So, for him, leaving to go to Alberta for five days was no big deal.  

 

At least, it hadn’t been before.  

 

He’d seemed  _ really _ bummed to be leaving Annika for that length of time though, which she knows is something he’s never had to worry about before.  She understands the struggle all too well--she’s said no to numerous business opportunities in the span of Annika’s young life for precisely that reason.  She simply can’t leave her baby for any extended period of time. She hasn’t even managed a single night yet, and at this age, taking Anna with her on business travel just isn’t realistic.  Anyway, she understands his dilemma.

 

Knowing he’d be flying in and out of Toronto and that he’d be missing Anna terribly by the time he returned, she’d offered, without thinking, to pick him up.  It’s something she would have done, automatically, in years past, and the offer had left her mouth without the slightest hesitation. Almost immediately, she’d wondered why in the world she’d offered to spend  _ more _ time with him, but then nearly just as quickly, she’d realized that after their conversation a couple of weeks ago, she’d decided to approach their relationship as it’d been before they crossed the line into something romantic and physical.  She thinks if they can manage to get back to the friendship they had back then, or even something close to it, then they will be able to parent their daughter together, effectively.

 

He’d seemed surprised when she’d offered to pick him up, but he’d accepted almost immediately.  

 

His flight gets in at ten in the morning, and the plan is for her to pick him up in arrivals, and then they’re going to drive out to the cottage at Huron and take Annika swimming for the afternoon (Annika doesn’t know that part yet, because if, Heaven forbid, something happens and they can’t go Tessa will never hear the end of the whining that will ensue--best to let her know what they’re doing once the lake is actually in sight).  

 

She tries to ignore the tiny glimmer of excitement she feels knowing she’s going to see Scott tomorrow, as well as the knowledge that she’s missed him these last five days, having gotten used to seeing him at least every couple of days over the past few weeks.  She hates herself just a little bit when she wonders, despite her best attempts not to, if he’s missed her, too.

 

++++

 

It’s ten-fifteen by the time Scott arrives in baggage claim, and he’s just managed to spot his bag lurching slowly along on the large metallic conveyor belt when he feels a small person bump into his leg.  Looking down he sees Annika grinning up at him, devilishly, as she wraps her arms around his knee and says, brightly, “Hi Daddy!”

 

“Hey, Kiddo!” he says, surprised, reaching down to lift her into his arms.  “What’re you doing here?” he asks, checking his watch again to see if he was somehow running later than he’d initially thought.  

 

Ten-sixteen.  Nope.

 

His eyes search the crowd for Tessa and find her standing a few feet away, her long, light-brown hair pulled back into its now-customary braid and tucked up into a ball cap which she has tugged low on her head.  She’s wearing a darkly-tinted pair of white Bonlooks, and he realizes immediately that she’s trying to avoid being recognized. He nods to her and offers a friendly smile, and she returns it, remaining where she is.  They’d planned to meet outside. He was just going to stand on the curb at arrivals until she drove by. He’s not sure why she’s changed plans, but he’s so happy to see them, he doesn’t  _ really _ care.  

 

Burying his face in Annika’s soft hair, he breathes deeply and takes in the sweet scent of his baby girl, a mix of toddler shampoo and clean linen with just the faintest hint of  _ Tessa _ \-- _ that’s the best smell _ , he thinks.

 

“Daddy airpane?” Annika asks, squirming around until she can see his face, properly.

 

“Yep,” he says, glancing around, nervously, though no one seems to be paying them any attention.  “I went on the airplane,” he confirms, reaching down to swipe his duffel bag as it trundles by. Quickly double-checking the name on the tag, he verifies that it’s the right bag before hefting it over the shoulder not currently occupied by his daughter.  “You ready to get outta here, kid?” he asks, jiggling her playfully in his arm.

 

She giggles in response, but offers no answer, so he navigates them in Tessa’s general direction.

 

“Hey,” he says when he reaches her side.

 

“Hey,” she replies.  “Welcome home. How was your flight?”

 

“Good,” he says, keeping his voice low.  “Glad to be home.”

 

They walk in companionable silence after that, not speaking anymore until they reach her SUV.

 

She hits the unlock button on her key fob to unlock the back door, and Scott tosses his bag into the floorboard before making quick work of getting Annika secured into her carseat. 

 

“You got it?” Tessa asks, glancing in his direction.

 

“Yep,” he says, stepping back and shutting the door.  “I like your disguise,” he teases, tugging playfully on the bill of her hat.

 

He watches her cheeks turn pink as she tugs the ball cap from her head, allowing her thick braid to tumble free.  She adjusts the sunglasses on her nose and says, “I just figured…”

 

“I know,” he says, nodding.  “It was probably a good idea.  I just haven’t seen you  _ incognito _ in awhile,” he says, grinning.

 

“I figured you were missing her,” she says, nodding to Annika.  “And I thought it’d be a nice surprise. Worth the risk,” she says, shrugging.

 

“Hey, you know as far I’m concerned we can call a press conference tomorrow and announce her to the world,” he says, smiling, lopsidedly.

 

“I know,” she says, nodding.  “And we will tell...everyone...eventually.  We’ll have to,” she acknowledges. “I just want to make sure that all the people who matter know first.”

 

“I agree,” he says.  “But still,” he offers, tilting his head.  “I appreciate this...today. It was nice. Having you here.  Both of you,” he clarifies, so that she knows for sure he means her, too.  “Coming home to someone...it’s nice.”  _ Coming home to you _ , he thinks, but refrains from saying, as he’s pretty sure that specific phrasing might just send her running.

 

She doesn’t say anything to that, and he hopes he hasn’t unsettled her despite his best efforts not to, but these past couple of weeks they’ve been working toward something, he can feel it, toward some semblance of what they used to be to each other.  In the past, in the few times they weren’t travelling  _ together _ , they’d always come back to each other, come home to each other, even when they were just the best of friends and nothing more.  He’s missed that, and he wants her to know it. 

 

He won’t push her too hard, but if she gives him an inch, he’s going to take an inch.  He’s going to take whatever she’s willing to give him, and in return, he’ll give her whatever she wants from him.  She’d said she didn’t want to need him, and that’s okay, for now. He can take things as slow as she needs to until the two of them are back on solid ground.  But he’s not going anywhere.

 

It’s going to mean a lot of watching her cues and proceeding with caution, but he’d done some soul searching these past five days while he was on his own.  He hadn’t liked it, being away from them, and he’s going to do whatever he can to keep future separations to a minimum. Sure, he’ll still have to travel for work.  As long as he’s coaching at this level that will always be something that he has to do, but he can minimize the time that they’re apart while he’s here, and that’s just what he intends to do.

 

“So,” he says.  “I was promised a day at the...L.A.K.E,” he finishes, glancing in Annika’s direction before moving his eyes back to Tessa’s face.

 

She smiles, presumably at his understanding of the delicate homeostasis of a toddlers mood, and nods her head in approval.  They’d discussed this before, and he remembers her mentioning that it’s best to spring fun outings on Annika and not plan too far in the future, as there is often a steep price to pay should plans change at the last minute.  “S.W.I.M.M.I.N.G. is her absolute favorite,” she says, nodding. “She’s gonna be so excited.”

 

“You ready then?” he asks, enjoying this very _ Mommy and Daddy _ moment of shared secret parent code more than he could possibly articulate.

 

“Let’s go,” she says, nodding and climbing into the driver’s seat.  “We’ll stop and feed this one on the way, if that’s okay. We’ve been up for a bit,” she offers, apologetically.  “And she gets hangry.”

 

“No idea where she gets that from,” he faux-whispers, eyes alight with gentle laughter.

 

She cuts her eyes at him, gamely, and he raises his hands into the air in innocence and says, in his regular voice, “No complaints here.  I could eat.”

 

“Hmph,” she huffs, starting the car.

  
  


++++

  
  


Annika is already practically levitating out of her carseat as they make the turn off the main road and travel the last mile or so to the cottage.  It’s clear by the way she’s bouncing up and down in her carseat and shrieking, “Me swim, Mama! Me go swim!” That she knows exactly where they are.

 

Scott smiles at Tessa.  “Cat’s outta the bag, I think.”

 

She laughs.  “Ya think?” she intones, sarcastically.

 

They park next to the cottage but don’t bother going inside.  There’s a small beachside gazebo with a covered area meant for changing into swimwear, he knows from previous trips up to the cottage in years past.  He honestly hadn’t been sure the Virtues even owned this place anymore until Tessa had mentioned bringing Annika up here. 

 

He knows they haven’t spent any holidays up here in the three years they’ve been gone.  

 

He’d checked.  

 

The ninety minute drive had become a part of his holiday tradition over the past few years.   _ Just in case _ , he’d told himself, every time.  And, also,  _ this is the last time _ .  It had never  _ really _ been the last time, though.

 

No one knows about those long, pathetic drives, as far as he’s aware, and he plans to take that particular knowledge to his grave.

 

It occurs to him that he’s probably been up here more recently than she has, which he finds rather strange.

 

Scott carries all of their various and sundry beach paraphernalia down the wooden steps to the sandy shoreline, while Tessa carries Annika and her ever-present white backpack.  As soon as they’re settled he jogs over to the gazebo to change into the swim trunks he’d snagged from his duffel bag. When he returns, it’s just in time to see Tessa, her back to him, removing her outer-wear to reveal a dark blue two-piece bathing suit.  It has ties at both hips and one in the center of her back. She’s roughly the same size she used to be as far as he can tell, but as she turns to face him, following their daughter’s energetic movements and attempting to tug a tiny rash guard and matching bathing suit bottoms on over her pull-up, he can see that her slight weight is distributed somewhat differently now.  Her limbs are slimmer, having lost some of their previous definition, and her hips and breasts are slightly fuller, no doubt changes left over from birthing and nursing a child. The differences are very slight though, and overall, she looks remarkably the same. In fact, he thinks few outside of himself and maybe her mother would really notice the changes at all. As his eyes wander over her body they stop in the place where her navel ring used to be, snagging there and making note of its absence.

 

Tessa tugs the hem of Annika’s floral patterned rash guard into place and glances up at Scott to find him watching her, intently.  He’s staring at her midriff and she suddenly becomes self-conscious that her, thankfully, somewhat sparse stretch marks are more visible than she’d thought in the glare of the late afternoon sun.  She hasn’t been out in a bathing suit much since giving birth to Annika, except here at the cottage with just her mom and Jordan for company. 

 

She wraps an arm across her middle, unconsciously, which prompts his eyes to fly up to meet hers, guiltily.

 

“What?” she asks, laughing nervously to cover her embarrassment.  She shouldn’t be embarrassed, she knows. She’d earned those few pale lines doing the best thing she’s ever managed to do in her life, but still...the last time Scott had seen this much of her skin she’d been younger, her pale skin unmarred by the scars of child bearing, and maybe not thinner, per se, but definitely more toned.

 

She takes in his appearance in comparison.  Despite the lack of direction in his life at one point while she’d been gone, he’d clearly found his way back to the gym okay.  

 

_ Holy Hannah! _

 

His chest and abs are still just as defined as they’d always been, and his shoulders and arms seem even broader and  _ more _ defined, having filled out some with age.  

 

_ Of course, he would have to look perfect now, wouldn’t he _ , she frets.

 

“You don’t have your belly button ring anymore,” he says, and then winces, clearly having spoken with no filter in place.  Then, shrugging as if giving up all pretense of nonchalance, he continues, candidly, “I noticed that day when we were giving Annika a bath and she was checking out your belly button, but I just figured you had it out that day for some reason.”

 

“Oh,” she laughs, somewhat relieved.  “My skin reacted to metals when I was pregnant with Anna,” she explains, easily, allowing her arm to fall back to her side.  “After struggling for awhile to find something that didn’t break me out, I ended up just taking it out. My OB had recommended removing it as I got further along, anyway...just in case something happened and they needed to do a c-section.  No jewelry in the OR,” she shrugs. “I just never put it back.”

 

“Did they have reason to think something might happen?” he asks, and his voice sounds slightly panicked, even to his own ears.

 

“Not really,” she assures him.  “You just never know though, do you?” she muses aloud.  “Things can go wrong, unexpectedly.”

 

For a brief moment he imagines finding out that something had happened to Tess while giving birth to a child he didn’t know anything about.  

 

He shivers, shaking off the terrible thought, his eyes instead seeking out the comforting sight of their daughter, already happily digging in the sand with one tiny butt cheek peeking out of her striped swimsuit bottoms.  He chuckles, despite his dark thoughts from only seconds before, because, seriously, how can you look at that and  _ not _ be happy?

 

Tessa’s eyes follow his and she barks out a sudden and genuine laugh when she notices what he’s been looking at.

 

His eyes move back to hers and he knows he’s grinning like an idiot, but it’s been years since he last heard that laugh.  It’s the one he’d pull from her, unexpectedly, during those ridiculous games they used to have to play for the cameras, or late at night in the tiny bunk of a moving Stars On Ice tour bus, when she’d be so deliriously tired that some inane quip he made to her would send her into a fit of barely controlled hysterics.  

 

He remembers her head resting on a scratchy travel pillow, his fingers resting gently against her lips, her cheeks pink with exertion as tears of laughter spilled from her eyes.  God he misses those days. 

 

Her laugh just now was all of those things... _ and better _ , he thinks, as he watches her move forward and re-adjust their daughter’s bathing suit, her eyes full of amusement and a love so obvious it practically radiates from her.  

 

He shifts back onto the sand.  He could lie here and watch them all afternoon, he thinks, and so he settles in to do just that.  He watches as Tessa crouches in the sand, helping Annika shovel tiny shovelfuls of sand into her red, plastic beach bucket until it overflows, and then emptying it into a large pile until they have a sand mountain nearly as tall as Annika, herself.

 

It’s not long though before Annika’s attention is captured by Scott’s bare torso, her love of belly buttons, not to be denied.  She toddles toward him, unsteadily, in the white sand, her hand outstretched and clutching a small, yellow shovel full of sand. He and Tessa both watch, amused, as she comes forward and fills his belly button to overflowing with the warm granules.  “Button!” she cries, proudly, thrusting the plastic tool into the air, sending the last bit of loose sand from the shovel flying over her head.

 

“Button?!” Scott cries, jumping up and shaking the sand free.  “I’ll show you  _ button _ ,” he teases, scooping her up and lifting her floral print rash guard to blow noisy raspberries against the soft skin of her belly.

 

He continues to torment her, mercilessly, eliciting shrieks of laughter until she’s gasping and coughing and he has to stop.  She tries to get him to do it again, but as she coughs a couple of more times, he gently redirects her interest to the water instead.  He seeks out Tessa’s permission with his eyes, and she gives him an imperceptible nod of approval, so he lifts Annika onto his shoulders, to her sheet delight, and barrels into the water.

 

Tessa has a bit of a moment then, alone on the beach.  She watches Scott charge into the waves with their daughter on his shoulders and  _ everything _ in her screams,  _ this is how it should always be.   _ It takes several moments of deep breathing and some rapid blinking to get herself together enough to join them in the water. 

 

Grabbing a foam noodle from the gazebo, she makes her way out into the water, gliding along the surface until she’s floating nearby, close enough to observe them, but far enough away so as not to interrupt.  Scott is chest deep in the water now, and he has Annika held securely against him. “On the count of three,” he says, smiling, adoringly, at their daughter. “Ready?” he asks.

 

“Reh-dee,” Annika repeats, her inflection parroting his, despite the fact that she’s clearly not asking him a question.  

 

“One,” he says, bouncing them in the water.  “Two,” he says, slowly, bobbing up and down again, sending little ripples across the surface of the lake all the way to where Tessa floats, ten feet away, watching them, intently.

 

“One, teewww,” Annika repeats, drawing out  _ two _ , exactly the way Scott had.

 

“Three!” he cries, jumping and lifting them both part of the way out of the water, temporarily.

 

“Tree!” Annika cries, and they both take a deep breath and disappear beneath the surface of the lake.

 

For a brief second Tessa’s heart lurches a little in her chest, but she doesn’t even have time for her anxiety to fully kick in before they’re bursting free of the surface again, Annika cackling with glee and blinking water out of her eyes, happily.

 

Scott drags a dripping hand over Annika’s forehead, beaming at her, proudly, and moving her drenched hair back out of her face.  He places a wet kiss on the center of her forehead and says, “Good job, kiddo! Again?”

 

“Yes!” Annika cries, both of her tiny hands coming to rest, trustingly, on her Daddy’s shoulders as she listen, eagerly,  for him to begin the count again. And, despite the fact that she’s not even three, Tessa suddenly has no doubt that Scott will have their daughter swimming before the summer’s out.

 

They stay until the suns sits low in the western sky, and Scott watches as Tessa dotes on their daughter, reapplying her sunscreen at least three times throughout the day, despite the fact that she only lets him cover  _ her _ back and shoulders with the greasy cream once, and even that had taken some convincing.  He hopes her pale complexion won’t protest the obvious slight later.

 

When they begin to pack up their things to head back to Toronto so he can get his car and make the long drive back to his empty house, Tessa does what she’s become amazing at these past few weeks.  She throws him a lifeline, just when he needs it most.

 

Her hand touches him lightly on the shoulder as he folds up their beach chairs and leans them back against the side of the gazebo.  He turns to find her standing directly behind him, Annika on her hip, head leaned sleepily against Tessa’s shoulder, clearly exhausted by the full day.  “If you have a spare pair of trunks, and you want to just leave these here,” she says, motioning with her head toward his damp swimming attire. “I’ll wash them with our stuff when we come up over the weekend, that way you’ll have them here for next time.”

 

He nods, smiling as the now-familiar ache that always accompanies their goodbyes fades, instead, into warm anticipation for the next time they’ll bring their daughter up here.

 

“Thanks, Tess,” he says.  “That’d be great.”

 

“And maybe, if you don’t mind making two trips...once the car’s loaded up, maybe you could come back down and carry this one up the stairs?” she asks, her lashes touching the apples of her cheeks as she glances down at Annika, who is barely clinging to wakefulness.  “My arms are pretty worn out from all the swimming today, and she’s almost asleep--she’s just dead weight once she’s out completely,” she explains, though he doesn’t buy it for a second. Tessa is not even close to being that out of shape. Anyone could look at her and tell that in a matter of seconds.

 

She doesn’t need him to do this for her.  He knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that she’s doing this for him, but as he’d already decided, he’s going to take whatever she offers and give her everything she’ll allow him to give her in return.  “Sure, Tess,” he says, smiling softly, gratefully. “Of course, I will.”

 

And he does.

 

++++

 


	14. FOURTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to take a sec to say thanks to peacefulboo for her help with some research I needed for this story. So, thank you! You're the best, 'boo! <3

++++

  
  
  


“Tessa, honey can you help me for just a second,” Alma calls, from the open back door, pulling Tessa’s attention away from the scene that’s been managing to captivate her for the last several minutes.  Scott is currently producing giant bubbles for Annika and a handful of his nieces and nephews using a giant plastic wand. Everytime he creates a new one their daughter eyes him with a sense of wonder and adoration so apparent Tessa has found herself unable to look away.  And every time one giant bubble bursts, unexpectedly, Annika looks to her cousins, gauging their reactions, before dissolving into fits of delighted giggles. They’ve been at this for the past twenty minutes or more, and none of them seem the least bit bored with the game, yet.  Including Scott, whose eyes sparkle with delight each time Annika’s laughter pierces the air, high and bright.

 

The Moirs have thrown this end-of-summer barbeque, though it’s not  _ quite _ the end of summer just yet, in honor of everyone in the family having finally, officially met Annika.  One last party for the year, with everyone in attendance, before the kids go back to school and the summer heat flares a final time before sputtering and fading into the cool breezy crispness of autumn.

 

Tessa drags her eyes away from Scott and their daughter and rises from the lawn chair she’s been occupying for the last little while, moving toward the house, where Alma has already disappeared back inside.  As she enters the kitchen, she relishes the wash of cool air-conditioned air hitting her skin. “Hey,” she calls, as she comes forward, stopping to lean against the counter, wilting a little in relief at the sudden drop in temperature.

 

“Oh, Tessa!” Alma says, looking relieved.  “Can you do me a huge favor?” she asks, looking loathe to put Tessa out in any way.

 

“Of course,” she replies, suffusing her tone with an audible,  _ obviously _ .

 

“Do you see that platter up on the top shelf?” Alma asks, pointing to the open cabinet in the corner.

 

Tessa follows the line of her arm to where it’s pointing all the way to the top shelf of the kitchen cabinet.  “Yeah, the silver one?” she clarifies.

 

“Yes, that one.  Do you think you could reach it if you stood on the counter?” she asks.

 

Tessa eyes it for a second, judging the distance from the countertop to the top shelf.  “I think so,” she says, already kicking off her flip flops and moving toward the step stool that’s been placed next to the counter.

 

“Once upon a time I would’ve climbed up there myself, but fifty-plus years of skating has done a number on my knees, and they don’t appreciate those types of shenanigans anymore.  Plus, last time Joe caught me up there, he made me promise to get him or one of the boys next time, but they’re all tied up, and besides, those boys manage to break something every time I let them in my kitchen, I swear.  I don’t know how every one of them were graceful enough to figure skate but still to this day move through my house like bulls in a china shop,” she huffs, her voice filled with equal parts love and exasperation.

 

Tessa laughs as she climbs, easily, onto the countertop, kneeling there to get her balance before rising gracefully from her knees into a standing position.  It’s still a bit of a stretch. The Moirs’ old house has those glorious kitchen cabinets that go all the way up to the ceiling. She stretches onto her tip toes and, just as she grasps the cold edge of the silver serving tray, she hears the back door open.

 

It’s Scott.  She knows because he’s already talking before he even steps inside.  “Hey Mom, have you seen Tess? She was just…” Tessa hears his voice trail off and knows his mother must be nodding in her direction, behind her back.  “Tessa!” she hears him exclaim. “What the hell are you doing up there?”

 

Behind her, though she can’t see it, Scott shoves Annika into his mother’s arms and rushes forward, arms outstretched as if Tessa might plummet to her death at any moment.  

 

She manages to grasp the large, silver tray and turn just in time to feel Scott’s hands close firmly over both of her hips.  Before she can even process what’s happening, he’s lifting her down as easily as if it were from an Olympic podium a whole lifetime ago.  His grip is firm and his thumbs dig into the flesh over her hip bones in a way she tries not to think of as delicious. When her feet are planted solidly on the floor she turns out of his grasp as quickly as possible, allowing the serving tray to clatter noisily onto the countertop. 

 

“For God’s sake, T!” he breathes, placing his hands on his own hips and blowing out a nervous breath.  “Why didn’t you come get me? I would’ve gotten that down.” His heart is pounding in his chest, though he’s not sure whether it’s from seeing her climbing around on his mother’s countertop like a mountain goat or from seeing her shapely ass right at eye-level.  The casual capri-length yoga pants she’d slipped into earlier after they’d wrapped up the water balloon portion of the Moir End of Summer Games left little to the imagination...especially if, like him, you’d actually been privy to what was underneath said pants at some very fortunate point in your past.

 

“Because,” she replies, haughtily.  “Your mom asked  _ me _ to climb up there and get it, and I’m a relatively capable person.  In case you’ve forgotten, I have pretty good balance, in fact, once upon a time I was actually an Olympic gold medalist,” she sasses.

 

“I know you’re capable, Tess.  I just don’t want you to fall,” he mutters, defensively, crossing the floor to his mother and taking Annika back into his arms, settling her against his chest like a tiny shield.  

 

Tessa eyes him.  His cheeks are flushed from the heat of the afternoon, and his skin glows with a healthy end of summer tan.  His well-defined arms cradle their daughter’s weight easily against his broad chest. Her eyes move to their baby.  Annika’s hair sticks to her neck where the fine tendrils have slipped from her carefully placed ponytail. Her cheeks are flushed as well, the picture of health and happiness.  Tessa’s heart squeezes in her chest at the picture they make. She steps forward, finger combing Annika’s sweat dampened hair off of her neck and back into place, resecuring it with the tiny yellow hair tie she’d used to secure it just this morning.  

 

“It’s hot outside, huh, baby?” she asks, commiseratingly, as she separates the tiny ponytail into two parts and tugs, gently, until the hairdo is tight once again.

 

Scott watches her, she can feel his eyes on her hands and her face, and she glances up at him and finds herself having to resist the urge to comb her fingers through his hair as well.  It’s short enough right now that it doesn’t flop over onto his forehead like it’s often wont to do, but the spiky disarray has her fingers curling, reflexively, against her palms, nonetheless.  She hears Alma clear her throat in the corner, and she moves back a step, automatically, averting her eyes and clearing her throat as well.

 

“I think I need a glass of water,” she says, suddenly feeling a little parched.  “You want some water, Bean?” she asks Annika.

 

“Me have juice?” Annika replies, hopefully.

 

“How about water now and then you can have some lemonade with dinner?” she negotiates, knowing Anna will cave, because she  _ loves _ lemonade.

 

“Okay, Mama,” she nods, agreeably, plucking distractedly at the short hairs at the nape of Scott’s neck.

 

Rather than tracking down her daughter’s sippy cup, which she will need to do sometime before they eat, she fills a red solo cup with cold water and takes a long sip, before moving forward and offering the cup to Annika.  The little girl leans forward in Scott’s arms, but Tessa still finds herself having to stand very close to him in order to bring the cup up to her daughter’s lips. She tilts it slowly, cupping her hand below her child’s chin in case she dribbles, until she hears the unmistakable slurp of water entering her mouth.  After a couple of good sips, she pulls the cup away, gently. “Good?” she asks, as Annika makes an  _ ahh _ sound after her last gulp of water.

 

Annika nods.  “Daddy water?” she asks, snagging the cup by its flimsy, plastic rim, catching Tessa by surprise and nearly ripping it from her grip.  Scott manages to save it from toppling to the floor, but in the shuffle both he and Tessa end up with ice cold water dripping from their hands.  

 

Scott laughs at the startled look on Annika’s face as Tessa relinquishes the cup to him and attempts to shake the water free from her hand.  He raises the cup to his smiling lips and swallows down the rest of the water in two big gulps, tossing the cup into the garbage and watching with amusement as Tessa’s brows shoot up ever so slightly in response.  “We’ll meet you back outside,” he says, grinning, boyishly. “We just came in for a drink and to cool off for a minute, anyway.” And with a wink, he’s out the door, and Tessa is left standing in the middle of the kitchen, barefoot, one hand dripping wet, wondering what in the hell just happened.

 

++++

 

By the time the party starts to wind down, the sudden jolt of electricity from earlier has settled back into its usual steady hum and Tessa has been able to enjoy the time with Scott’s family without dwelling on what exactly is happening, or not, between the two of them.  Annika has spent pretty much the entire day glued to Scott’s side, which is a little disconcerting for Tessa, but at the same time endearing and a little bit of a relief. It’s been nice to have Annika here with her, but to be able to enjoy visiting with everyone without being the one solely in charge of keeping track of her child.  For his part, Scott has made the transition from silly, fun-loving uncle to responsible, fun-loving dad look easy.

 

Tessa finds herself caught off guard when everyone starts to part ways for the night and Annika throws something of a fit when it’s time for Scott to leave and take Danny and his family back to his place where they’re spending the night.

 

“Come on, Anna.  Let’s say bye-bye to Daddy, so he can go home,” she tries again, shifting her daughter on her hip and dipping her head down to speak low into her ear, attempting to coax her out of her current pout.

 

“No!” Annika protests, the word fading into a fit of actual tears.  

 

“Aww, come on , Bean.  Daddy has to go, honey.  Don’t you want to give him a hug?”  Tessa tries, looking helplessly at Scott.  She can feel her cheeks getting pink. Her daughter is usually pretty even keeled as far as kids go.  She has her moments, but for the most part she doesn’t really act out. “I think she’s just overly tired,” Tessa says apologetically.  It’s nearly eight-thirty and it’s been a long day, and she’d only had a brief mid-morning nap.

 

“It’s okay,” Scott says, smiling easily, but Tessa can see that the expression doesn’t make it all the way up to his eyes.  She can tell he feels terrible for causing their daughter distress. “I’ll see you again soon, okay, kiddo?” he asks, running his hand down Annika’s chubby arm and squeezing her little hand, lovingly.

 

“No!” she cries again.  “No bye-bye, Daddy!” she pleads, reaching for him.

 

“Aww, kiddo...you’re killin’ me, here,” he says, lowly, holding out his arms in response.

 

Tessa lets Annika go, her sinuses burning in response to her daughter’s obvious distress and the sudden telltale shine she sees in Scott’s eyes.  She knows Annika is just tired and cranky, but she also knows this wouldn’t be an issue if they were normal parents who had their shit together. She glances around, thankful to find that everyone is giving them some space to deal with this uncomfortable moment.  Danny and Tessa are busying themselves with getting shoes on their little ones and making sure they have their things gathered to head over to Scott’s for the night, Tessa can hear Alma in the kitchen putting away leftovers and starting the dishwasher, and from the window she can see Joe outside putting out the fire in the outdoor firepit.  Everyone else has either already left or gone upstairs for the night. She reaches out and rubs Annika’s back, her hand bumping gently against Scott’s as he does the same, attempting to soothe their child. “This really sucks,” she whispers, pinching the bridge of her nose to ease the burn there.

 

“What if you guys just come back to the house with us?” he offers, tentatively.  “I know that wasn’t the plan, but…” he trails off, nodding down at Annika who is still sniffling through shuddery breaths against his shoulder.

 

“I don’t know, Scott,” she says, unsure.  It seems like bad parenting to set the precedent that their daughter throws a crying fit and they give her what she wants, but on the other hand, she does seem genuinely upset.  Tessa isn’t sure about spending the night at Scott’s though.

 

He seems to pick up on that.  

 

“What if she comes with me?  You could stay here, as planned, and she can come spend the night with me and have a sleepover with her cousins?” he offers.  

 

“Um,” Tessa tries, truly at a loss for words.  “I don’t….I don’t know…” She’d already planned to spend the night at Alma and Joe’s, knowing the party would go until late evening, but she’d anticipated having Annika here with her.

 

“Come on, Tess,” he cajoles.  “You’ll be right here, ten minutes away, if she needs you,” he reminds her.  “And Danny and Tessa will be there, too. This is probably the best option for her first sleepover, really, don’t you think?”

 

“Yeah,” she agrees, hesitantly.  “I mean, yes, I guess it is. I’m just...she’s my baby, Scott,” she tries to explain her hesitation to him.  It isn’t that she doesn’t trust him with Annika, it’s just that this, like everything else about his involvement in their daughter’s life, has come up so fast and unexpectedly that she’s not sure how she feels about it...other than uncertain.  In the end, she caves though, leaving it up to her child.

 

“Do you want to go bye-bye with Daddy, Annika?” she asks, her heart beating erratically in her chest.

 

Annika’s head snaps up from Scott’s shoulder, nearly knocking into his chin.  Her tear-streaked face looking hopeful despite her glassy eyes and pink cheeks.  Through shuddery breaths she manages, “M-me go bye-bye wis D-daddy?”

 

“Yeah, if you want to,” Tessa says.  “And Uncle Danny and Aunt Tessa? And the kids?  Do you want to do that, and Mommy will pick you up in the morning?” she asks, gently.

 

“Yeah!” Annika all but shrieks, a smile splitting her face.

 

Tessa takes a deep breath and smiles her bravest smile for Scott.  “You asked for it,” she jokes, attempting to alleviate some of her own tension.

 

“You sure you don’t want to come, too?” Scott offers, concern maring his features.  She’s pretty sure it’s concern for her though and not for himself with regards to how he’ll cope with their child on his own.  

 

“You already have a houseful, Scott,” she says, shaking her head.  “I’ll just stay here, like I planned, and I’ll come pick her up first thing in the morning.  She’s exhausted, anyway,” she says, running her finger, gently, down the bridge of Annika’s nose.  “With any luck, she’ll pass out on the ten minute drive to your house and you can just put her in bed with you when you get there.”

 

“If you’re sure,” he says, still sounding slightly uncertain.

 

“I’m sure,” she nods, though she’s actually anything but.  “Come here, love,” she says, holding out her arms to Annika.  “Come tell Mama bye-bye before you go,” she murmurs. 

 

Annika goes easily, appeased now that she’s getting her way and not having to part ways with Scott just yet.  She wraps her chubby arms around Tessa’s neck and squeezes exuberantly. Tessa follows Scott outside, unlocking her car so that he can transfer Annika’s carseat and bag into his car.  It only takes a minute, and in the meantime, Danny has herded his family into their car as well. Scott stands, waiting patiently for her to say her goodbyes to their child.

 

“Bye-bye, sweet girl.  You be good for your daddy, okay?” Tessa whispers against the curve of her daughter’s impossibly soft cheek.  “I’ll see you in the morning, okay? I love you,” she murmurs.

 

“I luh you, Mama,” Annika says, sweetly, kissing Tessa on the lips and squeezing her neck one more time before turning back to Scott.  Her little ponytail is coming out again, and Tessa has to stop herself from reaching up to fix it one more time before they go. She’ll be fine.  Tessa knows she will.

 

When Scott lifts Annika out of her arms, Tessa bites the inside of her lip to keep the sound in her throat from breaking free.  She isn’t sure what the sound would be exactly, but she imagines that it would be wild and wounded if the way it feels right now, trapped high in her chest, is any indication.  She watches as Scott buckles Annika in, carefully, and she manages to say, “Text me?” 

 

She can’t get the rest out... _ text me when you get home, so I know you’ve made it there safely, okay? _  But she knows he knows what she means, when he says, “Sure, kiddo.”  The look in his eyes is pained but full of resolve, and she is one hundred percent on his wavelength.  He knows she’s struggling with this, but he also knows this is a step forward that needs to happen. Scott needs to be able to have his daughter overnight.  They both know it. It’s just so much harder in practice than it’d been in theory, and even in theory she’d  _ known _ it was going to be hard.

 

As she watches the tail lights of Scott’s car fade into the distance carrying every bit of her heart away into the inky blackness, she sinks down onto the front porch steps.  

 

That’s where Joe finds her ten minutes later, when he comes around from the backyard, returning the last of the outdoor chairs to their rightful place on the front porch.  He doesn’t say anything, just situates the chairs and then sits beside her on the top step. When she shifts in the darkness, wiping at her cheeks in what she hopes is an inconspicuous way, he doesn’t comment, merely wraps his arm around her shoulder and hugs her into his side, comfortingly.  

 

He stays with her until her cheeks are dry and Alma comes to offer them a cup of coffee and a slice of pie before bed.  Tessa begs off, the idea of food completely unappealing. 

 

By the time she’s curled up in Scott’s old twin bed, the sofa bed in the basement having gone to Charlie’s kids for the night, she’s so emotionally exhausted it takes mere minutes for her to fall into a deep sleep.  

 

++++

 

It’s eleven-thirty when the ringing of her phone pulls her into sudden consciousness.  She’s disoriented and confused until she sees Scott’s name on the screen, the pale white-blue light illuminating the otherwise darkened room, prompting her to remember where exactly she is.

 

“Scott?” she says, concerned, but trying to remain as quiet as possible.  “What’s wrong?”

 

“I’m sorry to bother you, Tess,” he says, and she can hear the regret and chagrin in his voice over the sound of her daughter’s audible whimpers.  “Everything’s fine, but I think you’re going to have to come get her,” he says, miserably. “I’ve tried everything, but she’s really upset. I...I think she just wants you,” he admits.  “I can bring her there, if you’d rather…” he starts.

 

“No,” she stops him before he can finish.  “Don’t get her out at this hour. It makes more sense for me to come to you,” she says, calmly. 

 

“I’m really, sorry, Tess,” he says, and she can tell that he truly is.

 

“It’s fine, Scott, really,” she says.  And it is. Of course it is. This is why she’d agreed to try this tonight, because she’d known she’d be close by, just in case her baby needed her.  “I’m on my way,” she says, already tugging on her shoes. “Tell her I’m on my way.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an aside, it was brought to my attention a few weeks ago that I didn't have a social media presence associated with this fandom, so I created a twitter account where I can be reached if anyone so desires. I keep forgetting to share the @ but it's @judge_ship if you're a twitter person. :)


	15. FIFTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, guys! Just plain old busy life getting in the way! Thank you for being patient!

++++

  
  
  


“Is she okay?” are Tessa’s first words as Scott swings open his front door.  

 

“Yeah,” he says, and he’s positive she can see the outright relief on his face at the sight of her.  Hurriedly, he tries to school his features into something less dramatic. His eyes rake over her features, drinking her in.  She’s wearing a navy tank top and gray, cotton shorts, and her feet are bare inside of her runners. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun, a few dark strands slipping free.  She looks beautiful and young, he thinks. It’s been awhile since he’s seen her looking all sleep rumpled and adorable but the sight hasn’t lost its appeal.

 

When her slender arms reach out for their daughter he turns the crying child toward her mother and tries not to feel too disappointed when she practically launches herself into Tessa’s waiting arms.  He guesses he should be glad she was even willing to go with him in the first place.

 

“Oh, baby.  Shh,” Tessa coos, lovingly into their daughter’s ear as she burrows into her mother’s neck, seeking comfort.  “I’m here. I’m right here. You’re okay,” she says, rubbing Annika’s back, softly. “And your Daddy was here with you the whole time.  You’re safe, Anna,” she assures, her eyes flicking up to meet Scott’s. “Mommy and Daddy would never let anything happen to you, Bean.” 

Tessa’s trying to include him, and he appreciates the effort, but he’s still struggling to keep the disappointed expression off of his face.  He must be failing miserably because she says, “Hey, it was the first try. Give her time. It’ll get better.” He watches her sway back and forth, gently, as she continues, “It’s such a big deal that she even wanted to go with you this soon in the first place.” She’s reiterating words he’d thought to himself mere moments before, but he can’t help but wish that his daughter would cling to him for comfort the way she’s clinging to Tessa right now.  He won’t push her though, he will give her all the time she needs. 

 

“Yeah, you’re right,” he acknowledges.  “I just hoped she’d do okay. I’m really sorry I had to drag you out of bed,” he offers again, scratching distractedly at the short hair on the back of his neck.

 

“It’s part of the job,” she says, shrugging and smiling, good-naturedly.

 

Annika’s cries have already begun to settle into pathetic, shuddering little sobs, and he breathes a sigh of relief.  He’d spent the past hour trying to calm her down as she spiralled further and further out of control. She’d done great as the kids were settling down to sleep, but once Scott had attempted to leave her in her bedroom in her nice, pink toddler bed with the ice skating Tinkerbell comforter on it and her cousins tucked into pallets on the floor on either side of her, she had begun to fuss and demand drinks and stories and extra hugs.  Eventually, when he’d realized she was keeping her cousins, and by extension their parents, awake, he had given up and taken her with him to his room. By then, she’d already geared up to full-on hysteria though, and there’d been no talking her down. No amount of swaying, soothing words, or singing had managed to get her off the ledge. He’d finally had to admit defeat and call Tessa.

 

“Geez, Scotty, invite her in out of the hallway, will ya?” Danny ribs him, coming down the stairs, his hand on the small of his wife’s back, guiding her easily along with him.  

 

Scott realizes with a start that they are, indeed, still standing, awkwardly, in the front hallway.

 

“Uh, yeah, sorry,” he mutters.  “Come on in, Tess,” he says, gesturing vaguely toward the center of the house.

 

Danny and his Tessa pause at the bottom of the stairs.  “Everyone’s asleep up there,” his brother says, tossing his head back, indicating the second floor.  “We’re heading to bed. We have a long drive tomorrow, and the kids will be up early. Just holler if they bother you, but they’ll most likely come wake us up as soon as they’re awake.”

 

Scott nods at his brother.  “Sorry we kept you guys up,” he says, sheepishly.

 

Danny softens a bit then, offering, “Hey, man, don’t take it personally...my kids still only want Tessa when they’re upset.  It’s that Mommy Magic, bud. We mere mortals can’t compete with that.” He rubs his wife’s back and presses a kiss to her temple, and Scott watches his sister-in-law’s love-filled eyes gaze up at his brother.  He’s hit with a blow of envy so powerful he tries not to sway on his feet with the impact.

 

“G’night, Scott,” Tessa Two says, sleepily.  “Tess, it was great seeing you again.”

 

“Definitely,” Danny reiterates, nodding in Tessa’s direction.  “It was great seeing ya, Big Hands,” he says, grinning, affectionately.  Turning to Scott, he says, “Breakfast before we hit the road in the morning?”

 

“Absolutely, I’ll see you guys in the morning,” he agrees, clapping his brother on the shoulder as Danny and Tessa finish descending the stairs and turn the corner toward the guest bedroom.  He uses that term very loosely, given the unfinished look of most of the house, including the “guest bedroom”. He had managed to get the room semi-presentable for them, though, despite the obvious lack of finishing touches.  He’d done quite a bit of work over the last few weeks, devoting any time that wasn’t spent with Annika or at work to whipping his house into shape.

 

He watches Tessa now, taking in the changes, silently.  Annika has sagged against her, and he thinks it’s quite possible that she’s already asleep, snuggled safely against her mother’s chest.  Tessa shifts a little on her feet, redistributing Annika’s weight, and the fidgety movement propels him into action. “Is she asleep?” he asks, quietly.

 

She cranes her head back to allow her to see her daughter’s face and then grins, rolling her eyes at the absurdity of how fast she’d knocked out.

 

“Do you want to go put her down?” he asks, gesturing upstairs.

 

“I should probably just go,” she says, unsure.  “If I put her down now and then she wakes up later, she’s going to be upset again.  I don’t want her to think I’ll leave her when she’s sleeping…” she trails off, looking apologetic.

 

“No, of course not.  I mean, I figured...I just figured you’d stay here.  I mean, you’re here now. There’s no point in you getting back out tonight,” he says, pragmatically.

 

She shifts on her feet, remaining silent for a beat.  He can see the uncertainty on her face, plain as day.

 

“Come on, Tess.  You’re always welcome here, you know that.  I know things weren’t great between us...back then, but...they weren’t what you thought they were, either, right?” he asks, his eyebrows going up in a way he knows she finds endearing, or at least, at times, amusing.  “I’m still just me. Stay here,” he says, softly.

 

He watches her visibly soften then.  

 

“Okay,” she agrees, nodding.  “I’ll stay.”

 

He can’t help the smile that splits his face in two.  It’s embarrassingly big, and he does his best to reign it in.  “Come on,” he says, leading the way upstairs.

 

When they get to the upper landing he stops and turns to face her, suddenly nervous, once again.  “I don’t know whether you want to put her in her room or mine?” he says, letting the question hang in the air between them.

 

He watches her eyes flick to the open door where soft, white light spills into the hallway.  “Her room?” she asks, surprised. He nods, and steps forward, gesturing for her to go ahead. He follows her to the open doorway and watches her face as she takes in the soft pink walls adorned with framed Tinkerbell artwork, the window seat with the plush, pink cushion, the tiny pink, canopied bed with the Tinkerbell comforter, and the built-in bookshelf with a single, well-loved book on it.  He watches her eyes turn glassy and her throat work, silently, for several seconds before she manages, in a raspy voice, “You did this for her?”

 

“Yeah,” he says back, matching her quiet tone.  “Of course, I did. Right after you came here that first time.”  

 

He watches her blink rapidly, clearing the moisture from her eyes as best she can.  “It’s beautiful, Scott. You did a great job.”

 

He shrugs, when she turns to face him.  “I love her, Tess. I’d do anything for her.  I just want her to know she belongs with me, too.”

 

She nods, and he watches her struggle for several seconds to find her next words.  Finally, she smiles, and asks, “Did she love it?”

 

He smiles back at her, relieved by her reaction.  He hadn’t overstepped. He blows out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and grins, stupidly.  “She really did,” he confirms, proudly.

 

Tessa turns back to the room, eyeing the toddler bed, dubiously.  “It’s a great room, and I love her little comforter, but I really don’t think I want to leave her in here, just in case she wakes up again,” she says, turning back to face him, and he can see the apology written plainly on her face.

 

“No, it’s fine.  It’s your call, definitely,” he assures.  “If you’d rather put her in with you, then you two can sleep in my bed.”  He might be imagining things, in fact, he’s almost certainly imagining things, but he swears he sees a tiny shivver go up her back at those words.  He tries not to read anything into it. “Here”, he says, leading her a few paces down the hall until they’re standing in the threshold to his bedroom.  He moves forward, tugging the comforter back into place from where he’d tossed it back earlier when he’d given up on getting Annika to sleep. He folds a corner down, neatly, turning down the blanket and sheet for them.  “It’s a king. Plenty of room for both of you, and the sheets are clean, I promise,” he says, jokingly, poking fun at his own slovenly tendencies of the past, of which he knows she is well-acquainted. As an adult he has managed to break some of his less appealing habits, like living like a perpetual frat-boy.  His house might be unfinished, but it is clean and fairly well-kempt for a bachelor’s home, he thinks. At least his mom was proud of the changes the last time she’d been here to help him decorate Annika’s room after the painting was finished.

 

He turns to find Tessa watching him with large, solemn, oh-so-familiar eyes.

 

He picks up a pillow and steps back from the bed.  “I can sleep downstairs on the couch,” he offers, attempting to put her at ease.  “You can just shout if you need me.”

 

She eyes the bed, nervously, and then flicks her eyes back up to meet his.  “I won’t kick you out of your bed, Scott,” she says, moving forward and placing Annika gently onto the center of the mattress.  “Look, like you said, it’s a king, there’s plenty of room.”

 

He sees what she did there.  Annika lies sleeping in the middle of the big bed, like a tiny little Berlin Wall, separating the two halves, quite effectively.  Still, it’s more than he’d hoped for, and he will not look a gift horse in the mouth. He tosses his pillow, gently, back onto his side of the bed and steps forward to claim his spot.  “This okay?” he asks, willing to give up his usual side if she has a preference.

 

She nods, and steps forward, tugging back the comforter, and sitting on the edge of the bed just long enough to kick off her runners, before tucking her feet under the blankets and settling back into the softness of the mattress.

 

Scott looks at her from across the bed, he has also settled back against the pillows and tucked himself snugly under the comforter.  His eyes glide over their daughter, checking that she’s still asleep, and then back to Tessa. “Okay?” he asks, his hand paused on the lamp’s switch.

 

She nods once again, and, with a tiny  _ click _ , the room plunges into darkness.

 

++++

 

Hours later, Scott wakes to find himself face to face with a sleeping Tessa.  They have both rolled forward to the middle of the bed, migrating toward their daughter and each other.  He’s on his side, his left arm extended out in front of him. Tessa’s on her side, facing him, her cheek resting against the inside of his forearm, as if it is her very own pillow.  Her breath brushes evenly along the sensitive skin in the bend of his elbow, and everything inside of him comes to a screaming halt and bursts joyously to life at the exact same moment.  Annika is tucked between them, her head resting just below his bicep. Her back is against Tessa’s front and her tiny fingers are curled into the folds of his soft, cotton t-shirt. The moment is so incredibly perfect he finds himself holding his breath, afraid that he will so much as blink and it will all fade away into nothingness, into the lonely, dark years he’d spent without either of them in his life.  Slowly, he drags purposeful breaths into his lungs and lets them out in careful, measured exhales. Finally, he allows himself to relax back into his pillow and just enjoy the beautiful, unguarded moment.

 

His fingers twitch and his palm itches to touch her skin.  He knows how deeply Tessa sleeps, how much she enjoys the oblivion of those few blessed unconscious hours that she gets a night.  He knows that she will sleep right through it if he…

 

Before he realizes he’s doing it, his open palm has landed on the top of her wrist, where it rests along her hip bone.  Her arm is on top of the comforter, the long line of her bare limb, exposed from the tips of her fingers to the the thin, cotton strap of her tank top.  He lets his fingers trace over the delicate bones of her wrist, remembering the thousand, the million, times he’s grasped her there in practice, in competition, in easy friendship...and even once, in passion.  He glides his palm along her smooth skin, feeling the heat radiating from within her as his hand maps out the fine musculature of her forearm, her bicep. The muscles there are supple, yet slack with sleep. He cups the sharp point of her shoulder and follows the solid line of her collar bone until it meets its twin at the base of her throat.  He pauses there, his thumb slipping up to press gently against the the steady, fluttering of her pulse, just below her jawline. His eyes trail over her face, taking in her softly parted lips, the dark fan of her lashes against the pale, ivory of her skin, the perfect peaches and cream tint to her sleep-warmed cheeks. He lets his hand slip upward, cupping her cheek, keeping his touch light and not allowing his hand to stray anywhere untoward.  He’s very aware that he is stealing this moment, that, in truth, it is not his to take, but he’s helpless to stop himself from trying to connect with her. 

 

Her cheek is impossibly soft, and she nuzzles into his touch in her sleep, sending his heart crashing into his throat, its beat becoming erratic and oppressive until he can feel it throbbing in every one of his extremities.  He goes completely still for several seconds before allowing his hand to slip down and cup her jaw, his thumb skimming along the line of her cheekbone. It’s only when his palm slips down to rest along the delicate line of her throat, his fingers curling softly into the silky hair at the nape of her neck that he finds himself caught.  Just as his thumb traces the groove where her neck meets the soft, underside of her jaw goosebumps erupt down the length of her arm. He watches, fascinated, as they appear, rippling down her bare skin from shoulder to wrist, causing the fine hairs there to stand on end and catch the faint, mandarin-colored light that’s just beginning to appear through the partially opened blinds.

 

_ Oh fuck _ , he thinks,  _ she’s awake _ .

 

++++

 

Tessa’s dreaming, and in her dream Scott is touching her, and it’s tender and delicate and heated and perfect.

 

He touches her arm and her face and her neck and she wishes there was more but even this is so much.  It’s  _ so _ much.

 

She feels her body relaxing and growing warm and languid, and she feels gooseflesh rise on her skin at the delicious sensation of being loved again.

 

And then it stops.

 

Her brow furrows.  Her eyes fly open, in confusion.  

 

They meet wide, familiar hazel-brown ones-- _ not  _ her daughter’s--and her breath lodges in her throat.  It hadn’t been a dream. It’d been real. He’d been touching her...he was  _ still _ touching her, his hand seemingly frozen against the now overly-sensitive skin of her neck.

 

And he was touching her like  _ that _ .  He’s still looking at her like  _ that _ , and it’s doing wonderful and confusing things to her insides.  She wasn’t sure he still felt that way about her, exactly, but apparently the heat between them is still alive and well, and painfully mutual, she thinks, grinding her her teeth in response to the slow, warm, throb pulsing lazily through her body.  

 

She knows he cares about her, knows he loved her once upon a time.

 

Her eyes stay on his.  Her heart beats with heavy, slow, deliberate beats.  She slides her hand up, slowly, covering his, her fingers tracing the prominent veins along the back of his hand and the long, strong lines of his fingers where they disappear beneath the veil of her hair.

 

Could they really do this?  Now?

 

Could she have this with him and not get too attached, too dependent?  She’s not sure. Her body wants it, there’s no doubt about that. Is it wise?  Definitely not. But could she handle it, compartmentalize it? Maybe. Before Annika, back then, she definitely couldn’t have.  But now? Now she’s had more practice closing off her emotions, denying herself things she might want to give herself the things she needs, instead.  So, maybe…but then, would that be fair to Scott? He’d told her that when they’d had sex before he’d thought she’d been committing to something more between them.  She’d acted impulsively, they both had, and they’d both ended up hurt. If they did anything now, they’d have to be very clear about their expectations and intentions.  

 

She glances around the room at his very grown-up bedroom, in his very grown-up house and thinks about her worries about his overall stability.  For a moment, she allows herself to ponder the possibility of a future with him, of a life here in Ilderton, in this house with him and Annika and...she stops herself right there, before her imagination can gleefully knock her up a few more times with more beautiful Moir-eyed babies.  

 

She focuses on the family they’d be now, the three of them, in this house, if only she can trust Scott to be the stable guy she’d counted on pretty much her entire life before Sochi and the painful year that followed.  He seems different now, more like his old self, like he has his life together. He hasn’t given her any reason to doubt that fact since they’d re-entered each other’s lives. Maybe she could just try to give him the benefit of the doubt and see where it leads?  Maybe she could just be open to the possibility of them, as utterly terrifying as it seems to even consider it. She thinks she owes it to her daughter to be brave enough to try...she thinks, maybe she owes it to herself and to Scott as well.

 

So, no compartmentalizing.  If she decides to give this a chance, she needs to be able to commit herself to trying with an open heart, and  _ that _ she needs to think long and hard about before she hurts Scott all over again by jumping into something she’s not ready for.  She’s going to need a little time to consider the possibility, to really be sure. 

 

So, not  _ no _ ...but not  _ yet _ , either.  

 

Decision made, for now, she squeezes his hand, reassuringly, and then tugs it free from her skin, rising into a sitting position and adjusting her tank top to make sure all of the important bits are covered.  “Can I use your shower?” she asks softly. “I just want to...catch my breath before I start the day…” she trails off, eyebrows raised in question.

 

“O-of course,” he stammers, his hand still absorbing the heat from the place on his sheets that her body had inhabited mere seconds before, sending little jolts to his brain every few seconds that seem to interrupt normal thought processes and verbal skills.  

 

Before he can manage anything else, she rises from the bed and disappears into the en suite bathroom.

 

He’s confused.  She hadn’t freaked out, as he’d fully expected her to, but she also hadn’t encouraged anything further.  Of course, there was the matter of their child sleeping between them, so...it’s not as if things would have progressed much further anyway.  Still, her reaction has left him feeling unsettled and he finds himself suddenly needing to be free of the comforter. He kicks it off and Annika stirs just as he’s trying to figure out what to do next.

 

She sits up, looks around, confusedly, and just as he’s going into full panic mode thinking she’s going to have a meltdown and he’s going to have to call Tessa back from the shower, she smiles, widely, in his direction.  “Hi Daddy!” she says, happily.

 

He breathes a sigh of relief and grins back at her.  He hears the shower come on in his bathroom. “Hi, baby girl,” he says, happily, settling back against the headboard to watch his daughter greet the day.

 

++++

 

When Tessa comes out of the bathroom the sight that greets her has both her heart and her ovaries nearly exploding.  Scott is standing near the window, pajama pants hanging low on his lean hips, holding Annika against the broad expanse of his bare chest.  He’s speaking in low tones, directly into their daughter’s ear, and she seems perfectly content to listen to his words and look at whatever he’s pointing out to her from the window.  Annika’s thumb is in her mouth, her eyes still puffy with sleep, and she’s transfixed by whatever it is they’re looking at.

 

Tessa finds herself feeling compelled to press her chest against the bare skin of Scott’s back, wrapping her arms around him from behind and absorbing the heat she knows will be radiating off of him.  She wants to rest her chin on his shoulder and breathe in the combined scent of Scott’s deodorant and her daughter’s sweet-smelling baby shampoo. She wants to share their view, and see what they’re seeing while they’re seeing it.  All of them, together.

 

Instead, she stays standing near the foot of his bed and clears her throat to announce her presence.  Annika’s head pops up and she feels suddenly guilty for disrupting the moment.

 

“We were just watching the swans out on the lake,” Scott offers, amicably, though his eyes are charting a hasty map of her body from where her bare legs leave the hemline of her shorts up to the twin points beneath her tank top that scream  _ I left my bra behind last night in my haste to get here _ .

 

“Mind if I borrow this?” she asks, snagging a familiar sweatshirt off the top of his dresser.

 

“What’s mine is yours, Tess.  You know that,” he says, easily.  He smiles her, looking genuinely happy when she tugs the worn, hoodie over her head.  Glancing down, she sees that it’s the same faded, blue Maple Leafs hoodie she’s worn around his house a million times over the years.  It hits her mid-thigh, nearly causing her shorts to disappear completely under the heavy material, and her tummy does a pleasant flip at the charmed look on his face.  She can’t help but offer a somewhat beguiled grin in return.

 

++++

 

When they finally make it downstairs for a quick breakfast with Danny and Tessa and the kids, Danny takes great pleasure in the retelling of the early-morning story he and his wife had gotten from their daughter about how  _ Uncle Scotty had a sleepover with Aunty Tess last night! _

 

It came as no great surprise to Tessa, either, that after a quick stop back at Alma and Joe’s to collect the rest of her and Annika’s things, and a relatively traffic-free (so shorter than usual) commute back to Toronto, she had a voicemail from her mother waiting for her, casually wondering why she’d spent the night at Scott’s and then showed up to his mother’s house the next morning, obviously fresh out of the shower, wearing one of his old sweatshirts.

 

_ Ah, yes _ , she remembers now...this is what life with the combined Virtue-Moir clan had been like all those years.  She wants to be annoyed, but the truth is, she’s kinda missed it.

 

++++


	16. SIXTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to peacefulboo for helping me with edits! A second set of eyes is always a blessing and you always provide me with some great insight!
> 
> Also, happy birthday, Gracie! Hope this helps you start the day out right!

++++

  
  
  


Just when Tessa was getting used to the idea of her and Scott’s families once again being extremely over-involved in their relationship, she wakes up to an even bigger and more catastrophic invasion of their privacy. 

 

She reads the Twitter feed again.

 

**_@TSN_Sports:_ ** _  Despite three years of radio silence it looks like  _ **_#Tessa And Scott_ ** _ may have been collaborating on a secret off-ice project right under our noses.  These  _ _ photos _ _ , released today by  _ **_@ETCanada_ ** _ , show Virtue and Moir at Toronto Int’l Airport accompanied by a very intriguing travel companion.  We’re not usually ones to perpetuate gossip, but...what do you guys think, is this kid Tessa and Scott’s mini-me or what? _

 

Tessa follows the link, and her heart pounds in her chest as she stares at the startlingly clear photos of herself, Scott, and Annika near the baggage carousel at Pearson that day she and Anna had picked Scott up from the airport.  There’s one of him carrying Anna as the three of them walked out of the airport together and three more of them standing near her SUV. Of course, the photographer had managed to capture Scott looking all domestic while buckling Anna into her carseat and tugging playfully on the bill of Tessa’s ball cap.  In the last picture she’s removed the cap--there’ll be no use denying it was her in the photos--and is smiling up at Scott, her cheeks flushed pink. She remembers the moment, clearly. He’d been teasing her about her disguise. Ironically, it was right after that, after he’d poked fun at her for going  _ incognito, _ that they’d briefly discussed the need to publicly acknowledge Annika’s existence.  

 

The photos glare up at her from the screen of her iphone.  Someone must have recognized them in the airport and then went outside and waited to catch them leaving together.  She grinds her teeth. 

 

_ Asshole _ .  

 

It’s not like they weren’t planning to make the existence of their child public knowledge at some point in the near future.  She’d just wanted a little more time. A little time to just be them--Scott and Tessa and Annika--time to see what that felt like.  

 

Now the coming weeks will be a complete circus.  

 

She ponders her options, and her mind drifts back to a stream of consciousness that’s become very familiar as of late.

 

Ilderton has always been a safe haven for her and Scott, has always protected them and their privacy in a very real way.  You’d think, being such a small town, that the people there would feed on the rampant gossip that seemed to hound the two of them throughout their career, but the truth is, the people of Ilderton have always been fiercely protective of Scott and, by extension, of Tessa, as well.  

 

She prays they find it in their hearts to protect their baby, too.  

 

The idea of moving, at least temporarily, to Ilderton has been playing in the back of Tessa’s mind for the past couple of weeks.  The back and forth is killing her. The deadlines she’s set for herself at work seem impossible to meet when she finds herself spending half of her time commuting between Scott’s hometown and the city.  Plus, Annika’s becoming increasingly difficult to handle when it comes time to say goodbye to Scott, which has Tessa feeling conflicted. She’s glad that her daughter’s bonding so beautifully with her Dad.  She’s happy for Anna and for Scott, but it breaks her heart to be the one dragging her child away from a place and a person that obviously makes her feel happy and loved. And the truth is, she can’t really justify doing it anymore...not when she could just as easily work from Ilderton and make the trip into Toronto on an as-needed basis.

 

Scott coaches his team out of the Ilderton rink as a sort of satellite program under the umbrella of Patch and Marie-France’s school, so he needs to be there on a regular basis.  Plus, he works at the shop when he isn’t coaching. Being in Ilderton just makes more sense. She definitely feels like her hand is being forced by current circumstances with the leak of the photos of them at the airport, but she wills herself to recognize that this is something she’s been mulling over for awhile, and though she hadn’t reached an official decision and gone to Scott with her plans, she knows she’d really already made up her mind.

 

She and Anna are moving to Ilderton.  At least for the time being.

 

She picks up her phone and thumbs through her  _ recent calls _ list until she finds Scott’s name near the top.  She presses her thumb to the faceless icon next to his name and waits for the call to connect.

 

“Hello?” she hears Scott’s voice crackle from the other end of the line.

 

“Hey, it’s me,” she breathes out, on a tired sigh.  It’s barely seven-thirty in the morning, and she already feels exhausted by this day.  

 

“Hey, are you guys okay?” he asks, and her belly warms a little in response to his concern for their well-being.  

 

“Yeah, we’re fine,” she assures before continuing, tentatively.  “Have you...uh...have you been on social media today by any chance?”

 

“No, I don’t really go on there much.  Why?” he asks, and she can hear the slightly nervous pitch to his voice.

 

“Jordan called me about twenty minutes ago and told me to go check out Twitter before I got out and about today.  She knows I don’t have an account anymore. She wanted to warn me about some information that was leaked about us overnight…” she trails off.

 

“About you and me?” Scott asks, slightly bewildered, before going suddenly silent.  After a quiet and lengthy pause, he says, “It’s about Annika, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah,” she confirms.  “It is. Someone saw us at the airport that day we picked you up at Pearson and managed to get some pictures without us realizing it.”

 

She hears him mutter an expletive under his breath and then mutter, “Sorry.”  The apology was obviously directed to someone on his end of the line, not her.

 

“Is someone with you?” she asks, surprised.

 

“Yeah,” he says.  “I’m at the rink. Mom’s here with me.”  Then to Alma, she hears him say, “Someone took pictures of us with Annika at the airport and released them to the media.”  She hears Alma say something that she can’t make out and then Scott replies, “I know. I think so.” To Tessa, he says, “Mom wants to know if you’re okay?”

 

“Yeah, I’m mad, but I’m okay.  What about you?” she asks, knowing Scott’s temper is far worse than hers.

 

“Same,” he says, though she can practically hear his jaw clenching.  “She’s okay,” she hears him grind out in answer to his Mom.

 

“There’s nothing we can do about it now, except ride it out,” she says, gently.  “I think we should meet for lunch though and talk about what we’re going to do...how we’re going to approach this,” she suggests.

 

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” he agrees.  “Want me to come to you? I can probably get out of here by ten, so I could be there by lunchtime.”

 

“No, I’ll come to you.  There’s some other stuff I need to take care of out there anyway, so it works out better that way.  I have a meeting in about ninety minutes, but I’ll head your way as soon as I finish up here.” She checks the time on her phone.  “How about I meet you at The King Edward at one?” she asks.

 

“One’s fine, but are you sure you want to have this conversation in a public place?  The King Edward is pretty small,” he reminds her.

 

She hesitates.  “Good point,” she replies, deciding he’s probably right.

 

“Want to just meet at the house?  I can grab us some take out on the way,” he offers.

 

“Okay, that’s probably for the best,” she agrees, though her stomach twists a little at the prospect of spending the lunch hour alone with him in such a private venue.  She tells herself she’s being stupid, though. How many meals have they shared alone together throughout the years?  _ About a million _ , she thinks to herself.   _ And this will just be one more _ .  “I’ll see you at one,” she says.

  
  


++++

  
  


“I can’t believe this,” Scott says, tossing a half eaten slice of pizza back into the open box that sits on the coffee table next to them.  “I didn’t even get to tell my team I have a kid yet. I mean, they follow TSN on Twitter.” He shakes head. “There’s no way they haven’t seen it.  They’re gonna be hurt I didn’t tell them myself.” He runs a hand through his short hair and forces a breath through his nose. She resists the urge to reach out and place a comforting hand on his knee where it sits, just inches from her own.  They are sitting on the sofa, angled toward each other, each with one leg bent, resting on the cushions, and the other foot firmly planted on the floor.

 

He’s frustrated, she can tell.  He has been since the moment he met her at his front door and gestured for her to follow him inside.  His agitation is unmistakable, and she’d left Annika with Kate because they have so much important ground to cover in a relatively short period of time, so their daughter isn’t here to provide her usual buffering effect.  

 

“It’s gonna be fine,” she tries to assure him, nodding conciliatorily when he gives her a look.  “I mean, it’s  _ not _ , but, it is what it is, you know?  And hey, you can take Annika up to the rink to meet them now, eh?” she tries to offer him something positive to focus on.

 

He nods, remaining silent.

 

It’s funny, because on the inside, she’s been freaking out, too, but with Scott by her side she finds herself falling into her old role of empath.  She’d always absorbed Scott’s emotions and moods and tried to compensate for them, even when they were young kids. When he was upset, she’d try to calm him down, when he was goofing off, she’d try to keep him focused.  After all the time they’d spent apart, she still finds that it feels natural to try to balance his moods. He does the same with her, to a lesser degree, she knows. It’s part of why they always worked so well together on the ice.  Hopefully, they can use their skills at balancing each other out to help them overcome this current less-than-ideal situation.

 

“People were going to find out eventually, and now they know, and I hated feeling like she was a secret anyway,” Tessa, points out, trying to look at this from a positive perspective.  Ever the practical one, she’d had her internal freak out on the drive to Scott’s, and now she’s moved on to trying to figure out where to go from here. “As pissed off as I am that someone would do this, I’m also sort of relieved,” she admits.  “Do you think we should set up an interview to address the situation? I’ve already sent about a million calls to voicemail, and I didn’t think anyone even had access to my contact information anymore.” It’d actually been six calls and eleven emails, but still...it’d only been a few hours since the news broke.

 

“I know, I finally just turned off my alerts.”  He sighs. “I guess we have to say something. Do you think it’s best to do radio or television?  That’ll help narrow down who to go with for the interview.”

 

“I was thinking tv, as much as I would rather not.  I feel like we can be more candid there, like people can see the sincerity of what we’re saying.  I’m only going to do this once,” she says, quietly. “That’s not my life anymore.”

 

“Agreed,” Scott says, automatically.  “You think CBC Sports then? Since they  _ haven’t _ thrown us under the bus for a few extra hits and retweets?”

 

“I think so,” Tessa says.  “I’d rather it be a sport-centered piece, you know?  More of a Where Are They Now type of thing? Like a follow-up on former Olympians?  You know...my clothing line, your coaching and, yes, our daughter. I don’t want it to be some fluff piece for ET Canada about gold-medalists-turned-lovers and their secret love-child.”  Even the thought has her blood pressure rising.

 

For the next little while they discuss who their best option is to contact for the interview, when would be the best time to schedule it, and what exactly they will and won’t share with the public regarding Annika.  They decide on a producer they’ve known for years over at CBC as their point of contact--they trust her to make the call on who will do the actual interview. Sooner rather than later, is what they decide on the timeline for the interview, so that comes down to when the people at CBC can get everything set up.  And, as far as details about Annika, they decide to keep things truthful, but as simple as possible. Yes, she is theirs. No, they are not together. Yes, they obviously were, briefly. They do not plan to address the fact that Scott was not involved in Annika’s life until recently. That’s nobody’s damn business but theirs, they decide.

 

“In the long run, I know it’s better that the truth is out in the open.  I’m just not looking forward to the immediate fall-out. It’s going to be crazy for the next little while,” Tessa muses.  Observing his face, carefully, to gauge his reaction, she says, “I think I’m going to rent a place here by the lake.” She watches him blink at her, obviously surprised by the sudden announcement.  

 

“At Huron?” he asks, looking confused.  

 

“No, not Huron,” she laughs, lightly.  “Here. In Ilderton. There are a couple of empty houses right on the other side of  _ this _ lake,” she says, indicating the body of water that lies next to Scott’s house, which is actually probably more of a large pond than a lake.  “So, I’m going to see about leasing one of them through the fall if they’re available, and if not, then maybe something in the city proper.” 

 

When Scott doesn’t immediately reply, she goes on.  “I know Ilderton’s a small town, but I feel like we’ll be less of a media curiosity here than back in Toronto, and I know there may be the occasional paparazzi, even in Ilderton, but at least here I know the locals will look out for us if anyone comes snooping around asking a bunch of personal questions.”

 

“What about work?” he asks, skeptically, though she can easily detect the undeniable hope in his voice.

 

“I can work from here, and commute back to the city when necessary,” she says, simply.  “We’ll be close by so you’ll have better access to Annika.” She bumps her closed fist against his knee and says, “She could maybe even try spending the night again, and I won’t have to freak out thinking about being two hours away in Toronto if she needs me.”  She draws her hand back into her lap and twists the silver rings on the middle finger of her left hand, nervously. He’s been listening to her, silently, nodding his head and looking pensive. “It’ll give us several months to see how things go, and when winter gets here, we’ll...we’ll re-evaluate.”

 

“Or,” he says, cautiously, audible hope still clinging tenaciously to his words.  “You could stay here, with me.” She opens her mouth, ready to protest, but remains silent when he raises his hand in the universal symbol for  _ stop _ .  “And before you say no, just think about it.  I have the room, Tess.” He gestures around to his beautifully unfinished home.  She takes in the space again, makes note of the soft baby blanket folded neatly over the back of a nearby armchair and the framed photo of Annika that now rests on the mantle.  “Please?” he implores. “It’s the perfect solution.” 

 

_ Is it, _ she wonders?  Could this be the answer to their current situation?  She and Scott  _ do _ get along, that’s not an issue, they’d practically lived in each other’s pockets for years before they’d messed everything up, and they’d always gotten along brilliantly.  And she  _ does _ want to know if he’s truly become the man he seems to have become, the man she hopes that he is.  What better way to know for sure than to live alongside him and watch him with their daughter day in and day out?  Just yesterday morning, she’d been wrestling with her own thoughts regarding her ability to trust him enough to risk her whole heart to a second chance at something with him.  Living in his back pocket again would certainly provide her the opportunity to get to know the man he is now on a deep enough level to give her clarity on that matter.

 

On the other hand, how could she even consider living with him?  Less than two months ago he wasn’t even a part of her life. In fact, he was the person who’d hurt her more than any other person in her life ever had--he still is.

 

They’ve come so far since then, but they still have so much emotional baggage between them, and things can still get very fraught between them very quickly.  How would she handle being so close to him again with no place to escape to should the need arise? How would he? 

 

They still care about each other, she knows.  How could they not? And they wouldn’t purposely cause each other pain, but she’s fully aware of how easily they could hurt each other again without even trying to.  

 

Moving in with Scott seems like such an unwise choice, and yet...the thought of living with him, of being close to him again and closing up some of the distance that’s developed between them over the last few years is appealing.  After all, once upon a time, Scott Moir had been her very best friend in the world...and if she’s completely honest with herself, she still misses him. 

 

He sees her considering it, can tell by the way her green eyes go slightly stormy in concentration.  Excited, he takes her hand. “Two full-time parents are better than one,” he says, determined now to convince her.  

 

_ This is it _ , he thinks.   _ This is my chance to prove that I’m ready for this, for all of it...my chance to prove that she  _ **_can_ ** _ count on me _ .  

 

“We can  _ both _ take care of Anna, and neither one of us will have to be separated from her,” he says, enticingly.  “Neither one of us will have to say goodbye at the end of the day, and  _ she _ won’t have to say goodbye to us.”  He watches her digest that emotionally-loaded observation.  He’s thinking on his feet now. “Look, I know for a fact you’ve seen Three Men and a Baby more times than you can count--you love that movie.  You used to make me stop flipping channels every single time it came on tv.” He looks at her, pointedly. “It worked for Sylvia and Peter,” he says, shrugging, as if to say,  _ Why not for us? _

 

“Jack,” she says, distractedly, her eyes slightly unfocused.

 

“What?” he asks, confused.

 

“Jack was the baby’s father,” she clarifies, her vision clearing, and her eyes coming to focus, sharply, on his own.  “Peter is the one Sylvia falls in love with.” The words are barely out of her mouth when their implication hits her and she wishes wholeheartedly she could reel them back in.  She stares at Scott, takes in the shifting golds and browns in his painfully familiar, hazel irises. In them, she sees the boy who held her hand every day for seventeen years, and it sends an intense wave of nostalgia shooting though her.

 

Her words hang in the air between them.

 

_ Talk about a Freudian slip _ , he thinks.  “Um, well, you know what I mean,” he says, attempting to laugh off his verbal misstep, hoping he hasn’t scared her away just when she was beginning to consider his proposal.  “Come on, Tess. The room next to Annika’s is empty. It’s perfect,” he urges, his eyes shining with optimism.

 

“Scott, living with a toddler full-time, it’s...it’s a lot,” she warns, gently.  Before she can even consider agreeing to this insane idea, she needs to be sure he’s going into it knowing what he’d be getting himself into.  “Having you here, full-time, to help with Annika would be great, and living in one place would definitely do away with those awful goodbye meltdowns, but there are other things to consider.”

 

“Like?” he prompts her, expectantly.

 

“Well, like, I was hoping we’d have more time to decide what we wanted to tell people, or  _ not _ tell people, about our relationship and our...family,” she says, hesitating on the last word.  “Once we address Annika, publicly, there won’t be any doubt that we were romantically involved in the past, but if we were to move in together, people would definitely make assumptions about the present, as well...have you thought about that?”

 

“Tess, people have made assumptions about you and me for literally as long as I can remember, and I truly don’t give a fuck.  Can you honestly say that you do at this point?” he asks, incredulously.

 

She smirks at his present kiss-my-ass attitude.  She knows from experience that this feeling is fleeting, because, it truly  _ does _ matter to them what people think insofar as it pertains to their respective characters.  At the end of the day, they’ve always just wanted to be seen as good people. They’ve always both wanted to live up to the faith that the people of Canada put in them as youngsters.  She knows what he means, though, understands how he’s feeling, at the moment, in light of the complete invasion of their and their child’s privacy. “I don’t care if people think we were involved or that I got pregnant without being married or even that we were reckless or irresponsible, because all of those things are true.  What I meant was, if you plan to see anyone in the near future…” she hesitates here, slightly uncomfortable. “We’ve been in this place before with the media to a lesser degree, and dating was difficult enough then, with the constant implication that we were involved, even before we actually were. But  _ this _ ?  If, on top of learning about Annika, people find out we’re living together?”

 

“Tess, if you seriously think I’m even considering looking for a  _ girlfriend _ right now,” he starts, indignantly.

 

“I’m not implying that you’re looking for a relationship right this moment, no,” she says.  “I just want you to be clear on what this would mean. I don’t want it to be something you throw out there on a whim and then realize, too late, what a huge commitment it is.”  Tessa goes back to twisting her rings, nervously. She can’t believe she’s even considering this.

 

Scott reaches out and covers her hand with his own, stilling her restless movements.  His hazel eyes hold hers for a long, meaningful moment. “Hey,” he says, softly. “I know exactly what I’m committing to.”   _ And who I’m committing to _ , he thinks.

 

Living with him isn’t the wisest move, she’s sure of it...and yet something is pushing her to say yes.  She’s torn. She can’t, in good conscience, commit to living with him full-time--she just can’t, but maybe...maybe a short stay would be okay?  Just long enough for her to get herself and Annika settled in Ilderton? Long enough for them to weather this media firestorm together? Tessa takes a shaky breath.  “If I say yes, it wouldn’t be permanent, okay?” she clarifies, her green eyes locked with his. “I want to be clear on that. It would just be for a few weeks, while I look for something more permanent nearby.  Agreed?” 

 

He doesn’t like it, but he’ll take every inch she gives him, every centimeter.  She hasn’t said  _ no _ , and that’s something pretty spectacular in and of itself.

 

She waits for him to nod his acceptance before continuing.  “And either of us can call it off at any time if we need to--if commuting to the city is unmanageable for me or if having us here is too much for you,” she stipulates.   _ If it’s too much, emotionally _ , she thinks, silently.  

 

She steels herself.  Her heart is thumping wildly in her chest, but she realizes, maybe for the first time, that she has the power here to move them forward or hold them back, and she’s so bone-achingly tired of holding herself apart from him.  He was such an integral part of her for so long, and she’s finding that keeping her distance from him is like shoving away her left arm with her right--pointless and frustrating. She’s been rigidly resisting the pull of him since he crashed back into her life, only allowing him in as far as his interactions with Annika dictated, but slowly, carefully, he’s managed to push his way right up against her defenses until they’re beginning to waver just the slightest bit.  And she finds that, whether or not she ever feels ready to tread into something romantic with him again, she wants, more than anything, to be his friend, like they used to be. So, maybe they can start with that.

 

“It will change your life, Scott, having us here,” she warns, softly, giving him one last out.

 

“I know,” he says, an involuntary smile creeping onto his face.  

 

He’s counting on it.

 

++++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of a transition, I know, but I hope you're all excited for what's to come!


	17. SEVENTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much gratitude to peacefulboo for the continued support and guidance. You're the best! ;) You all can thank her for keeping this story from being a complete grammatical mess, filled with opposing tenses and ...'s. :D
> 
> This is a long one, guys. Hope it was worth the wait.

++++

  
  


“This is the last one,” Scott’s buddy, Trevor, says as he maneuvers a large, but not too heavy box through the front door.  The box is labeled  _ Tessa’s Room _ , so he heads up the stairs, presumably to stow it in the room that has been recently designated as hers.

 

“Hey, Scott?” Tessa calls out, unsure of his current location.

 

“Yeah?” she hears his voice echo distantly from the direction of the garage.  She makes her way to the door that opens from the large kitchen into the garage and finds him stowing her bicycle on a wall mount.  She and Scott are both outdoor types, and though their living situation is temporary he’s insisted that she bring along anything and everything she might want or need in the coming weeks, assuring her that he has plenty of space for it all.  Over the past week she’s been able to feel the subtle shift from summer to autumn, and so, on a whim, she’s given in and brought along her bike, hoping to enjoy some crisp afternoon rides in this more rural setting.

 

“Trevor just unloaded the last of the boxes.  I’m going to call Jo and have her bring Annika home,” she says, watching as he steps back from the now carefully hung bike.

 

“Okay,” he says, wiping his hands on the seat of his faded jeans.  “I’m going to go get Trev to help me hang that mirror in your room before he heads out, and then I’ll see about finding something for dinner.  Any requests?” 

 

“Not really.  Just something easy.  It’s been a long day,” she says.  Truthfully, she’s famished, so she knows she’d probably eat just about anything Scott put in front of her.  She knows from years of experience that he’s a pretty decent cook. “I’m sure Jo’s fed Annika already, so anything is fine, really.”

 

“Okay, then.  I’ll be back down in a few,” he says, and she watches him disappear back inside the house.  After a few seconds she can hear the echo of his footsteps as he makes his way upstairs. His friend, Trevor, has been a godsend, agreeing to help them move her stuff at the last minute.  She’d told Scott there wasn’t that big of a rush, but once the decision had been made, he’d been determined that the move should happen asap. 

 

Trevor’s a childhood friend of Scott’s whom he’s kept in touch with over the years.  Born and raised in the same small town, they are Ilderton locals through and through.  They golf together occasionally at the small, community golf course and do guy things together, things she doesn’t get, like target practice at the local range and skeet shooting in the field behind the rink.  Scott has always kept his buddies semi-separate from Tessa, but Trevor is one of the few she’s met a handful of times over the years. He’s an honorary member of the Moir family, not unlike herself, and so, their paths have crossed at the occasional Moir family gathering.  She likes him. He’s genuine and kind and seems stable, and she’s glad to know that Scott has people like him in his life, people who show up to lend a hand when you need it. 

 

She hadn’t known what Trevor did for a living before this week, but it turns out that he actually manages a local,family owned moving company.  His grandfather started it, passed it down to his father, and now his father is semi-retired, and Trevor is in the process of taking over as general manager.  When Scott mentioned that he needed to move Tessa and Annika’s things quickly and preferably with little-to-no damage involved and asked Trevor for a recommendation for someone in the Toronto area, Trevor had flat out refused, promising to have a truck gassed and ready on whatever day they needed it.  He’d made good on his promise and even provided manpower to help get them packed up and ready to go.

 

Today, just shy of a week since the initial decision had been made, they’d moved her and Anna’s belongings to Scott’s house.

 

Subletting her place in her trendy Toronto neighborhood had taken less than forty-eight hours, and since half of their stuff is staying packed and being stored temporarily in Scott’s large, mostly-empty garage, unloading the truck has only taken them a few hours.  She’s a little startled at how quickly it’s all happened, but utterly grateful to Scott’s friend for making it easy on them. She thinks Scott might have confided in him about the press leak regarding Annika because he’s been very respectful about Tessa herself as well as their daughter, not asking any questions or so much as raising an eyebrow regarding her and Scott’s new living situation.

 

Tessa’s family, on the other hand, has had plenty to say about it, and understandably so.  Kate and Jordan have had front row seats to the train wreck that Tessa’s life had turned into the last time things fell apart between her and Scott.  Kate has chosen to refrain from stating an opinion on the move one way or the other but has merely posed several concerned, open-ended questions along the lines of  _ How does the idea of moving in with Scott make you feel? _  Jordan, on the other hand, spent thirty minutes ranting about how insane Tessa was for even considering moving in with Scott and went on and on about how she’d better not let him break her heart again, before finishing with a highly confusing  _ But you should definitely have sex with him again...you know, for closure.  _  And her brothers?  They’re still coming to grips with the fact that Scott is not the horrible person they’d all been fooled into believing he was, so they’ve been adamant that she should not, under any circumstances, be making this move.  Protective as they are of her, she still has them under a strict no-contact order where Scott is concerned. She made them promise to stay away from him when she’d first disclosed that she was pregnant, and she has not lifted the ban yet.  

 

_ Maybe by the time Annika starts kindergarten _ , she thinks, doubtfully.

 

Even Alma, who she’d thought would be totally supportive of the idea, had seemed concerned when they’d told her.  Of course, she and Joe are thrilled that Annika will be so nearby, but she’s fretted openly about the wisdom of their plan, which has only served to intensify the near-constant churning in Tessa’s gut.

 

They can do this though, she knows they can.  At least, she  _ thinks _ they can.

 

By the time Jordan makes it to Ilderton with Annika it’s eight-thirty, Trevor is long gone, and Annika is already thirty minutes past her bedtime.  When Scott suggests that maybe they can let her stay up late just this once, Tessa gives him a look that very clearly says,  _ Are you trying to start a fight with me on my first night in this house? _  He wisely decides that maybe he should just give Annika a quick bath before they tuck her in for the night.

 

Annika launches herself at Tessa the second Jordan is through the front door, but it’s Scott she clings to while the three adults stand in the foyer catching up on the day’s events.  Jordan had taken Annika to the zoo while the weather was nice, and she recaps their day before asking how the big move has gone. Tessa tells her they have Annika’s room finished but hers is still a bit of a disaster zone.

 

She has several days to get everything situated, though, before she needs to be focused on anything else.  Work is in a bit of a lull while she waits for some new materials to arrive, and they have their interview at CBC scheduled tentatively for the beginning of next week, so for the moment, she can focus on getting herself organized at Scott’s.

 

Jordan and Scott’s interactions are cautious but civil and Tessa is grateful that they both seem willing to let bygones be bygones.  This is their first real conversation since Scott reappeared in her life and the truth of what had happened was revealed. It makes her realize that while they have spent a lot of time letting Annika get acquainted with Scott’s family they have neglected to let Scott get reacquainted with Tessa’s.  She decides to try to remedy that as soon as possible. 

 

She chats with Jordan, knowing her sister needs to get right back on the road to make it home at a decent hour, but all the while her eyes drift back to Scott and Annika.  She can’t help it. They are so obviously enamoured with each other it’s kind of ridiculous. 

 

“I missed you, Kiddo,” he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead.  He turns to Tessa and asks, “I’m going to go ahead and run her bath if that’s okay?”  

 

She nods her permission, happy that he’s willing to jump right in and help out with their daughter’s care.  She’s been worried she might have to prompt him or assure him that it’s okay to be proactive in that way, but he seems eager to share the load right away.

 

To Jordan he says, “It’s been good seeing you, Jordan.  It’s been too long.”

 

Jordan smiles a friendly smile and says, “Yes, it has.”  To Annika, she says, “Bye Toepick. Aunt Jojo loves you.”

 

Scott steps forward allowing Annika to give Jordan a hug and kiss goodbye.  “Luh you, Anjo!” Annika says, sweetly. “Byebye!”

 

“I Toepick,” Annika says to Scott as he heads up the stairs with her in one arm, her intonation making it sound more like  _ Tope Ick. _  He shoots Jordan an amused look over his shoulder.  Tessa had mentioned her sister’s nickname for their daughter before, but he hadn’t realized how well it’d caught on. 

 

“You are?” he asks.  “I thought you were Annika Jordan Alma Virtue?”

 

“I Toepick,” Annika repeats, seriously.  

 

“Okay, Toepick,” he laughs.  Let’s get you in the bath, okay?”

 

“Okay, Daddy,” she says, and Tessa thinks that Annika’s little hand gripping the back of Scott’s neck as he takes the stairs two at a time might be the most precious thing she’s ever seen.

 

“You are so royally fucked,” she hears Jordan observe, bluntly, from behind her.

 

“Jordan!” she admonishes, in a shocked voice, spinning to face her older sister.  “Why would you say that?” she asks, trying not to sound overly-scandalized.

 

“Because you’re looking at him like he’s a tree you’d like to climb,” Jordan mutters, lowly.  Thankfully, too low for Scott to overhear. “And don’t give me that look. I know you’ve swung from those branches before.”

 

“It’s not like that,” Tessa says, defensively.  “Jordan, it’s  _ not _ !” she insists, when her sister gives her a disbelieving look in reply.  “I just...I can’t help it. When they’re together like that it just gets me, ya know?”  Tessa takes a deep breath and meets Jordan’s steady gaze. “I just never thought I’d have this.  I never thought  _ she’d _ have this, and sometimes I get a little…” she searches for the right word.  “Emotional,” she settles on. “Just seeing them together sometimes is still overwhelming.”  She sees Jordan soften then and a look of mild concern begins to mar her pretty features. “In a good way,” Tessa rushes to assure her.

 

“I know,” Jordan sighs.  “And I know I teased you about getting involved with Scott again, physically, but, in truth, I worry about you, Sam,” Jordan confesses, using her personal term of endearment for her younger sister.  “When you look at him like that…” she trails off. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

“Well,  you and I both know that ship sailed three years ago,” Tessa quips, trying to make light of her previous heartbreak.  “But I’m trying really hard to be smart this time. I know moving in here, it might not seem like it, but I really am trying to do what’s best for all of us, especially Anna.”

 

“Hey,” Jordan says, seriously.  “I know you’re doing what you think is best for her.  I’ve never doubted that.” She reaches out and links her pinky with Tessa’s, swinging their interlocked hands, playfully.  “Just make sure you look out for you, too, okay?”

 

Tessa nods her agreement.  “Okay,” she says.

 

Jordan sighs, squinting at Tessa, worriedly.  “Alright,” she says, reluctantly letting go of her younger sister’s hand and pulling her in for a hug.  “I gotta go. I have a long drive, but I love you, and I want you to call me for anything, ‘kay?”

 

“‘Kay,” Tessa agrees, pressing a kiss to her sister’s cheek as they embrace.  “I will. And I love you, too. You drive carefully and text me when you’ve made it home.”

 

“Will do,” Jordan promises, stepping out of the circle of Tessa’s arms and moving toward the front door.  “Bye T,” she says, smiling what seems like an encouraging smile. “Bye Scott!” she calls up the stairs. Over the distant sound of running water they hear him call back a friendly goodbye.

 

“Bye Jo,” Tessa says, as she holds the door open for her sister and flips on the porch light so she can see her way to her car.  She watches until Jordan is safely inside the vehicle before she steps back inside.

 

She presses her back against the closed front door and listens to the sounds floating down from upstairs.  Scott’s low voice and Annika’s high chatter are easily discernible in the otherwise quiet house. The water has stopped running and she can hear the occasional splash and resulting giggle.  She closes her eyes, savoring the moment. It’s their first night living under the same roof as a family. Well, sort of, a family. In any case, she takes the moment in, holding it close and letting the warmth it creates seep into her bones and warm a few of the places deep inside her that she thought might never feel warm again.  Then she starts up the stairs, determined to be a part of whatever happy moment is occuring up there. She knows things probably won’t stay this perfect forever. Jordan’s words aren’t lost on her. Neither are the obvious worries of Kate and Alma. She knows there is danger in this situation for her, and for Scott, if not for Annika--she’s pretty confident in their ability to protect their daughter from their own idiocy, even if in the end they can’t protect themselves.  She knows this whole thing could blow up in their faces, but she has to believe that what they stand to gain is worth the risk.

 

Scott was her best friend for seventeen years, and she steps onto the landing determined to get that friendship back on track.  If she can just do that, she knows that it will pave the way for whatever might come later. She can’t let herself think about that just yet--one step at a time is all she can handle at this point--but it’s there in the back of her mind, nonetheless, the potential for more.

 

When she steps into the bathroom the sight that greets her makes her heart clench with emotion.  Scott has filled the tub with sweet-scented bubbles, and Annika is sitting in the middle of the bath with foam up to her chin and resting fluffily on top of her head, grinning up at her dad with unabashed joy on her face.  Scott looks pretty happy as well, sitting cross-legged on the tile floor with an open bottle of Mr. Bubbles at his side. 

 

She’s pretty sure Scott isn’t a bubble bath kind of guy, at least not the solo kind anyway--she immediately shoves  _ that _ thought out of her head--and she knows she didn’t bring the bubble bath with her, which means at some point he’d likely purchased the bottle for Annika.  He recaps the plastic container as she moves to sit on the floor beside him, saying, “I think I went overboard with the bubbles, but she kept asking for more.”  He shrugs helplessly, adding, “She really seems to like them.”

 

Part of her wants to tell him he can’t indulge their daughter’s every whim, but part of her, the part that’s drowning in warm, dangerous emotions, just wants to hug him.  This is exactly the type of dad she’d imagined Scott to be, back when imagining such things was a very special kind of torture, because she’d thought it was never going to be.  Before that, even. Before Annika was even a possibility, when they were just kids, and Scott’s first niece was born, she’d looked at the way he loved that baby so openly and easily, and  _ this _ is how she’d imagined he’d be with his own kids.  It strikes her now for the first time that she was picturing him in that capacity that far back in their friendship.  She wonders if that’s normal or if she’s suffering from a particularly intense form of denial.

 

“Me got bubbles, Mama!” Annika states, proudly, holding up one bubble-covered arm as evidence.

 

“I see that,” Tessa laughs, indulgently.  “Did Daddy run you a bubble bath?”

 

“Yeah,” Annika replies, smiling happily, before reaching her other arm out to Scott.  “Daddy make bubbles!”

 

“Why don’t we see about washing some of those bubbles off now, so we can get you all ready for bed?” Tessa says, reaching for the detachable shower head and turning it on to a very low pressure.  When little more than a warm trickle is running from the sprayer, she runs it over Annika’s head, rinsing the bubbles away despite the stormy look on her daughter’s face. “We have to get to sleep because Nana Alma and Papa Joe want to come see you tomorrow,” Tessa reminds her, redirecting her expertly, and prompting an abrupt brightening of her features.

 

“Will you hand me a washcloth?” Tessa asks Scott, and he turns and grabs a pale yellow washcloth from the small stack of towels and pajamas next to him and dunks it in the bath water before passing it to her.  

 

“Her soap is over by you,” he says, nodding toward the end of the tub with the faucet where Tessa finds a collection of toddler soap and shampoo that she’d unloaded into the bathroom sink earlier.  She’s impressed that he’s so organized. 

 

Tessa sets about washing Annika’s hair and body and Scott watches, taking it all in but still chatting animatedly with Annika from time to time, keeping her entertained.  When Tessa declares their child clean and ready for pj’s, Scott wastes no time lifting the small girl out of the tub and wrapping her in a fluffy towel. Tessa watches as he dries Annika’s hair gently and pats down her wriggling little body with surprising ease.  He needs a little help with her pull-up as it wants to stick to her still slightly moist skin, but after Tessa tugs it into place he makes quick work of her pajamas.

 

Tessa isn’t sure what their normal bedtime routine will look like while they’re staying here, but she’s happy to let him be as involved as he wants to be.  She’ll do anything she can to facilitate these moments in hopes that her daughter will have some vague warm memories from these early years, if nothing truly specific.  She grabs a hair brush from her toiletries bag on the counter and says, waving the brush, “She hates this part. Want to tag team it and get her bedtime story started while I brush her hair?”

 

“Sure,” Scott says, scooping Annika up into his arms and heading for the door.  “What do you say, Kiddo? You want to read a bedtime story?”

 

By the time Tessa settles herself against the headboard of Annika’s pink, canopied toddler bed, Scott is already cracking open the spine on  _ The Wonky Donkey _ .  She pulls Annika onto her lap and begins to brush her daughter’s hair, starting at the ends and working her way, gently, upward.  As it turns out, brushing her hair is much easier when she’s distracted. Tessa finds herself getting lost in the silly story and the endearing way Scott tells it, and before she knows it, the story is over and Annika is slumped sleepily against her chest.

 

“Good job,” she says to Scott, smiling openly.  

 

“It was a team effort,” he says, shrugging easily.  “Here, let me take her so you can get up,” he says, standing and placing the book on the foot of the bed.  He leans forward, slipping his hands beneath their daughter’s slight weight and lifting her up.

 

Tessa’s not sure if he notices the way his knuckles drag along the top of her thigh and the curve of her breast (he does) but she certainly does, despite years of training herself not to feel the accidental touches that sometimes occurred between them as partners.  It happened a lot back when they were skating. Just by virtue of what they did for a living there were frequent, unintentional yet intimate touches that were, by necessity, ignored. That didn’t mean she didn’t notice, not back then and certainly not now. 

 

She manages to keep her breathing normal, despite the jangling of her nerves, long enough to climb out of Annika’s bed and help Scott get her settled under the covers.  They leave the door to her room open and a night light on in the hall, and then pause awkwardly in the low light, suddenly unsure what to do with themselves.

 

Scott breaks first, laughing nervously as he gives voice to exactly what she’s feeling.  “It’s so bizarre that we just put our daughter to bed, isn’t it?” His eyes shine happily in the dark, and she can’t help but smile back at him.  “I mean, it’s kind of surreal, eh?”

 

It’s definitely surreal for her, too; being here with him, doing this together.  She’s known about Annika since she was just a little bean, growing in her belly, but she’s starting to understand that for him Annika has only existed for a couple of months.  She tries to imagine how crazy this must all seem to him. Amazing, wonderful, but crazy.

 

“Yeah,” she whispers in deference to their sleeping child.  “It’s definitely surreal.”

 

“Thank you,” he says, softly.  “For being here and letting me do this, tonight.  For letting me help.”

 

“Thank you for wanting to,” she says, sincerely, trying not to think back to the time in her life when she’d believed he didn’t.

 

He steps forward then, surprising her by entering her personal space.  Before she can decide how to react, he slips his fingers under the drape of her long, dark hair, gripping the nape of her neck lightly and tugging her forward gently.  Her heart stutters in her chest just a little when he presses his lips to her forehead and whispers against her skin, “Always. I’ll always want to, Tess.”

 

When he pulls away there is gratitude in his eyes, but there is yearning there too, and her belly swoops low and gives a lazy roll in response.  For a loaded moment, they stand there looking at each other. He doesn’t step forward again though, merely nods in the direction of Annika’s room.  “Wake me up if you guys need anything, okay?”

 

She nods, dumbly, and then turns to go into her room when the silence stretches on long enough to become awkward again.  At the last minute, she turns in her doorway and says, “Hey, Scott?”

 

He’d been standing in his open doorway, looking down, one hand worrying the back of his neck, and she watches his head come up in response to her words.  “Yeah?” he asks, expectantly.

 

“Goodnight,” she says, smiling softly.

 

He smiles back, and it’s familiar and comfortable.  “Night, T,” he says.

 

That familiar smile is the last image she sees as she drifts off to sleep.

 

++++

 

“Tessa,” she hears a familiar female voice calling her name.  There’s an urgency in it that makes her stomach ache, and she fights to stay asleep.  “Tessa, you need to wake up, honey. It’s Scott.” She blinks awake, her eyes bleary from sleep and her head fuzzy and confused.  

 

“Alma?” she asks, sleepily.  “What’re you doing here?” The light is hurting her eyes and they burn and tear up in response to the harsh yellow-white glow of her bedside lamp.  She watches in horror through blurred vision as the older woman’s face crumples dramatically.

 

“It’s Scott, honey,” she says on a sob.  “There’s been an accident,” she manages, her voice thick with tears.  

 

Tessa feels everything inside of her go ice cold.  “What?” she asks, unable to grasp what Scott’s mother is trying to tell her.  “No, he was just--no!” she says, sitting up in bed and shoving the covers away from her, adamant that somehow Alma has gotten this all wrong.  

 

“He’s gone, Tessa,” she cries.  “Scotty’s gone,” she says, before dissolving into tears.

 

“He can’t be  _ gone _ ,” she says in disbelief, though her body is already shaking and hot tears of grief have already begun to slip down her cheeks.  She continues to deny Alma’s words, unwilling to accept them, despite the other woman’s obvious distress. “No!” Tessa practically shouts.  “No! Alma?!” she tries, begging the woman in front of her to say she’s lying, to say this is an awful, cruel joke. “Alma, no,” she cries, the truth finally beginning to set in as Scott’s mother continues to cry openly, looking pityingly at Tessa, her grief-stricken face all the confirmation Tessa needs to finally believe.

 

She sees him then, and it’s sudden and shocking.  He’s lying right in front of her. She bears painful witness to his last breath, and it wrecks her in a way she didn’t even know was possible.  He’s dead before her, cold--never, ever coming back.

 

A cracking sob rips out of her from somewhere deep in her being, and she curls in on herself, trying to go back to the dark, to the safety of  _ before _ .  Before he was gone, before she knew.

 

She chokes out something that she thinks might be his name, but it’s unrecognizable even to her own ears.  She’s crying so hard that she’s hyperventilating, choking, and a part of her prays for unconsciousness so she doesn’t have to feel this clawing pain anymore.

 

“Tessa?” she hears, and it’s the cruelest of tricks because it sounds so like  _ him _ .  She cries harder at the unfairness of it.  “ _ Tessa _ ,” she hears again, and this time she opens her eyes because she feels his hand on her arm, his fingers curling around her bicep.

 

She blinks.  It’s dark, and Scott is standing in front of her.  She can see his outline clearly in the shadowy light cast by the open bathroom door down the hall.  “Scott?” she croaks, her throat constricted tightly by her attempt to suppress the sob poised in her chest.  

 

“Yeah, Kiddo, it’s me,” he says, softly, his hand pressing against her forehead.  “Who else would it be?”

 

The sob falls from her lips, unbidden.  She can’t hold it in anymore.

 

“Aww, Tess, it was just a nightmare,” he says, softly, and she feels his arms slip around her.  She’s damp and cold and she finds that she’s shivering uncontrollably.

 

“You--you were dead,” she sobs, shaking her head.  “Your mom came to to tell me that there’d been an accident,” she cries, brokenly.  “And I saw you.” A violent tremor runs through her body and she pulls back to look him in the eyes, needing to see for herself that he’s here with her.  “I watched you stop breathing,” she says, and she can hear the accusation in her her own voice.

 

“I’m sorry, T,” he says, looking guilty.  “But I’m right here, okay? Nothing’s happened to me,” he assures her.  “Look,” he says, taking her hand and placing it against his chest. His skin is bare and she can feel the heat of it burning against her hand, can feel the steady thumping of his heart against her open palm.

 

Relief surges through her when she realizes that it was all a nightmare.  She’s in her bedroom, and he’s here with her, and he’s okay. “Look,” she hears him say.  “We need to get you in some dry clothes, okay? You’re soaked and freezing.” She nods her head, content to go along with whatever he says, her body suddenly physically weak with relief.

 

He stands her up at the side of her bed and turns her until she’s facing away from him, then he slips his hands under the edges of her t-shirt at either hip and lifts the soft, cotton material up over her head, leaving her bare above the waistband of her boy shorts.  “Stay right here,” he says, one hand grasping her hip, briefly, as if to steady her, before he lets go and steps away from her. “I’m just going to grab your robe. Hang on,” he says.

 

She turns to face him just as he makes it back to her side.  “ _ Tessa! _ ” he hisses, surprise, clear in his voice.  Before she can say anything, he spins her body away from him, obviously attempting to spare her modesty, but who even cares about that when he’d been  _ dead _ just moments before?  She feels him settle her robe around her shoulders, and as he attempts to maneuver her arms into the wide arm holes, she spins in his embrace and presses her face into his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of him.

 

“Tess,” he tries again to reason with her, though this time his arms have wrapped around her, keeping her close, and whether it’s to keep her from backing up and exposing herself to him again or to keep her bare skin pressed close to his, she isn’t sure, and she honestly doesn’t care right this moment, as long as he keeps her here in his arms a little longer.  “You’ve been sick, and you had a nightmare. That’s all it was,” he whispers, rubbing her back.

 

Before she’d turned around, he managed to get her robe on one arm, but the other side is merely draped loosely over her shoulder.  The silky material hangs open, and her bare chest is pressed flat against his. His heat is seeping into her skin, warming her from the outside in.  He is blessedly alive against her and she wants to weep at the relief that keeps flooding through her in waves. She loves him, she loves him so much, and the fact that he’s here with her right now when she needs him is everything.  He’s not with Kaitlyn or any of the faceless others, he’s not at the bar, he’s here. He’s okay, and he’s here. And maybe tonight, after seventeen years, and everything they’ve struggled through this past year, especially, maybe that’s enough.  Maybe they’ll figure things out and have some kind of future, and maybe they won’t, but suddenly she can’t imagine waiting another moment to know him like this. She knows every part of him, she thinks, except this one--this one she’s been backing away from since she was old enough to know it existed, but she doesn’t want to back away from it anymore.  She loves him, and tonight she doesn’t need to know exactly what that means or if he feels the same type of love for her--she just needs him to know, she needs to show him.

 

There are still tears on her cheeks when she tilts her chin upward and presses a kiss to the side of his jaw.  His hands come up to her shoulders, and she thinks for a moment that he’ll push her away. “Tess?” he whispers, and his voice is rough and uneven.

 

“I’m here,” she whispers back.  It seems like a strange answer, and yet it’s the only one she has to give.  She’s here, and he’s here. Right now. That’s what she knows. They are both present in a way they haven’t been for the better part of a year.  The shock of her nightmare and his sudden appearance and her subsequent actions have stripped them of all the bullshit between them and left them standing raw and aching before each other.  “I’m right here,” she whispers, against his mouth, her lips finally, bravely finding his.

 

She thinks he’s as lost as she is from that moment on.  They are lost to the moment and to each other, and she wouldn’t do a thing to stop it even if she could.

 

When his lips part under hers, she slips her tongue inside to brush along his, and she feels his fingers dig into the flesh of her biceps in response.  Hungrily, she presses closer, angling her head for better access, and he follows her lead, deepening the kiss. He slips his hands up to her neck, her jawline, tilting her head until she’s just where he wants her, taking control of her lips with his own, and ravaging her mouth with unchecked urgency.  His hands slide up until they tangle in her hair and she moans into his open mouth, helplessly.

 

The overwhelming need to be close to him has her shrugging out of her robe, letting it fall free from the side where it’d merely been draped in place anyway.  Dropping the opposite shoulder, she allows the force of gravity to exert its pull on the silky material causing it to slip free from her skin and pool noiselessly on the carpeted floor.

 

Scott must feel it land at their feet, though, because he lets go of her lips with a wet, reluctant  _ pop _ , and looks down at her with hooded eyes.  She’s never seen this particular expression on his face before, and it sends a thrill right through her being to know he’s looking at her and seeing something that puts  _ that _ look in his eyes.

 

Never taking his eyes from hers, he drops his hands to her waist, his fingers digging into her bare skin, posessively.  He’s touched her here before, but never like this. Slowly his hands begin to slide upward, tracing along the hills and valleys of her ribs until the backs of his fingers rest along the curved, underside of her breasts.  He strokes her there, back and forth with just the backs of his fingers while he dips his head and presses reverent kisses to the top of her bare shoulder.

 

When she can’t stand it anymore, she takes his hands in her own and covers her aching flesh with his large hands, sighing in relief when he takes the initiative and tests the slight weight of her breasts in his palms.  When he plucks carefully at the tender tips, she drops her head forward onto his chest, her breath coming hot and fast against his skin. She feels his lips against the crown of her head, and she thinks she’s already ready for him, just from this.  She steps closer to him, trapping his hands between their bodies, but bringing a very vital part of him into contact with the bare skin above the low-riding waistband of her boy shorts. She shifts against him, rubbing, causing a delicious sort of friction to occur where his length lays heavy and hard against her naked belly, separated from her only by the thin cotton of his boxer briefs.

 

She presses her lips to his chest and feels the beat of his heart against her mouth.  It almost sets off a fresh round of tears, but she reigns it in abruptly, unwilling to sacrifice this moment to imagined grief.  She feels his lips against her neck, and when he sinks his teeth lightly into the tendon where neck meets shoulder, she shivers and steps back until her calves hit the side of the bed.  Then, sinking down until she’s sitting, she holds out her hand, beckoning him to join her as she shifts backward across the sheets.

 

Her back hits the mattress softly, his hand landing behind her head just in time to ease her fall.  When his lips latch onto the tip of her breast, his tongue pulling and swirling, she feels a corresponding tug deep in her belly, and her toes curl involuntarily.

 

She drags his mouth back up to hers, shifting beneath him until she’s aligned their bodies so that when she parts her thighs his weight settles perfectly against her.  She sighs contentedly and sucks his bottom lip between her teeth, tugging lightly. His hips flex against her in response and she can’t help but tilt her pelvis up so that his hardness presses just where she needs him most.

 

She kisses him again, fiercely, drawing her knees up to rest alongside his narrow hips, widening the cradle of her thighs and allowing him to press more firmly against her.  He rocks into her and grunts when she uses her calf muscles to cling to him and thrust her hips against his in reply.

 

There’s a mystifying, terrifying ache inside her that goes beyond anything she’s experienced sexually before.  She’d only ever glimpsed it one other time, years ago, with him, and she hadn’t been ready for it then. She isn’t sure she’s even ready now, but she isn’t planning to shy away from the connection this time.  Whatever they have between them, she’s determined to know, to experience, tonight.

 

She reaches between them, pressing her hand against his length, curling her fingers around a part of him she’s never dared to touch before.  In seventeen years, she thinks she’s probably run her hands along every inch of his skin at one point or another, except this one--until now.  When she finally manages to get her palm against his bare skin she hears a sharp intake of breath and she honestly can’t say which of them emitted the sound.  

 

When he presses eagerly into her hand, everything inside of her constricts to an almost painful level of need and anticipation.  “Scott,” she whimpers, tucking her forehead against his collarbone and squeezing her eyes shut tight against the overwhelming sense of desire coursing through her body.  She feels him nod against her, in understanding, his short hair tickling against the shell of her ear. 

 

He shifts to one side and moves his hands to her hips, finding hers already there, tugging restlessly at the stretchy cotton of her boy shorts.  He curls his fingers into the waistband and helps her tug them down and off, dropping them somewhere beside the bed, where they are immediately lost to the recesses of the dimly lit room.

 

She thinks she feels his hand tremble slightly when it touches the bare skin of the inside of her thigh, but when his fingers press between her legs, seeking her heat and moisture, they are sure and strong, and he touches her like he’s done it a thousand times before, like he  _ knows _ her already.  He reads her so well, his fingers moving over her and in her in response to the slightest hitch in her breathing or jerk of her hips, to the point that he’s almost anticipating what she needs next.  She’s stunned that he could know her so well without ever having touched her like this before. When her thighs are trembling and she’s clinging to him on the edge of release, she starts tugging on his hips, mindlessly, urging him onto her.  “With me,” she manages. “I need you with me.”

 

He stills her hands with his and looks into her eyes.  He holds her gaze for several seconds, and it’s intense and profound. As much as she wants to shy away from his intensity, she doesn’t.  In this moment she’s able to let him look into her, and she hopes he can see the love she’s trying to show him when she isn’t quite able to put it into words yet.  “I’m with you, T,” he whispers. “I’m right here,” he assures, gifting her earlier words to him back to her, earnestly.

 

Together, they remove his boxer briefs, shoving them down and off, impatiently.  He settles against her, both of them completely bare and breathing hard. She hugs him to her tightly in silent encouragement, and when he pushes into her for the first time they both stop, momentarily overcome by the intensity of the moment.  After seventeen years of touching and holding and needing and loving, finally coming together in the most physically intimate way that they possibly can has them both knocked completely off center. It’s only when physical need takes over, their baser instincts demanding fulfillment of the promises their bodies have made to each other, that they begin to move against each other again.

 

When he rocks against her his belly drags along her own, tugging her navel ring in such a scintillating way that her eyes roll back in her head.  In mere seconds, she’s right back to the edge of the precipice, her thighs trembling and her toes curling involuntarily. She feels heat rip through her body and flow into her extremities, her face and chest flushing red in a way that has nothing to do with fever and everything to do with the feeling of this particular man moving inside her body.  The friction he’s creating inside of her intensifies until she thinks she might pass out from it. It shouldn’t be this way, she thinks, almost outside of her own being--not the first time. No one should know another person’s body so well without previous intimate knowledge of it, but then she thinks,  _ but it’s Scott _ .  

 

In the end it’s that simple thought that pushes her over the edge.  It’s Scott who’s with her, in her, pushing her,  _ knowing _ her in a way no one else ever has.  Her body seizes up then, every muscle clamping down hard, causing her to cry out and him to still deep inside her, before expertly coaxing her through the pulsing aftermath with slow, deliberate strokes that steadily gain speed again until she can feel his own release, sudden and hot, deep in her womb.

 

“Tess,” she hears him breathe against her skin, and it’s the way he says her name, plaintive and loving, that has her sitting bolt upright in bed.  

 

She’s alone in her queen-sized bed at Scott’s house in Ilderton,  _ not _ in her old room back in London with Scott’s naked body draped, boneless and spent, over her own.  She’s sweating and short of breath, and her body aches in the most deliciously torturous way. 

 

_ What the hell was that,  _ she wonders?

 

She’s pretty sure she’d just relived the most emotional, erotic sexual experience of her life through a dream.  

 

She’s emotional and more than a little turned on and shocked to be feeling either of those things.  Though, she supposes if you repress a memory long enough it will find a way to the surface, and this is a memory she’s been managing to push to the back of her mind for three solid years.  

 

If this is what one night in Scott’s house has managed to do to her psyche, she can’t imagine what the weeks ahead are going to be like.

 

Her mouth is almost unbearably dry.  A pressing need to quench her thirst has her throwing back the covers and going in search of water, but an irrational fear of running into Scott in the dark in the middle of the night in her current state has her drinking from the tap in the bathroom and scurrying quickly back to the safety of her room.

 

Jordan’s words from earlier in the night come back to her now.  

 

Oh yeah. She is so royally fucked.

 

++++


	18. EIGHTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to peacefulboo for helping me find the forest amidst the trees.

++++

  
  
  


“Scott!” he hears his name being called from somewhere downstairs.  

 

“Yeah?” he responds, coming to a stop at the top of the landing.

 

“Can you come here for a second, please?” he hears, and it sounds as if it’s coming from the back of the house.  He makes his way downstairs and pauses in the hallway, where he finds Annika sitting on the floor playing with a toy cell phone.  

 

“Where’s Mama, Bean?” Scott whispers, playfully, unsure whether to veer left or right at the end of the hall.

 

Annika grins at his use of Tessa’s pet name for her and points down the hall, not indicating a specific direction.  He ruffles her fine hair affectionately as he continues down the hall.

 

“Tess?” he calls.  “Where are you?”

 

“I’m in here,” comes her echoing reply, along with a low-pitched, metallic  _ boom. _

 

Scott rounds the corner into the laundry room to find Tessa bent over, head-first, in the washing machine struggling to retrieve something from the bottom of the basin.  The hollow  _ boom _ comes again as her right knee bangs into the front of the washer, the toes of her left foot clinging precariously to the tile floor as she leans forward just a bit further.  He starts to announce his presence, but she stretches forward, and the wriggling of her backside has his words dying in his throat.

 

“Dammit,” he hears her mutter under her breath, and he can’t help but smile.  “Scott!” she yells, again.

 

“I’m right here,” he says, in a normal tone, which still manages to startle her.

 

She lets out a surprised yelp, and her toes lose their grip on the floor.  She lurches forward, but Scott, anticipating her response, steps forward and places a hand on her lower back, just above her tailbone, to keep her from going head first into the washing machine.  His other hand settles on her hip and he tugs her back until her feet settle once more on the floor. For just a second her back connects with his front and he fights against the instinct to hold her there until she’s steady.

 

As it is, she springs forward out of his arms and spins around in the narrow space between him and the washing machine, already railing at the inadequacy of the appliance.  “This washer is ridiculously deep, Scott. How many people are you planning to do laundry for?”

 

“It’s just a standard large-capacity washer, Tess,” he chuckles.  “I don’t know what to tell you,” he says, shrugging. “What’s the problem anyway?” he asks, stepping around her and peering into the mostly-empty machine.

 

“I can’t reach Annika’s sock,” she huffs.  “It’s stuck in the bottom of your stupid washer, and I can’t get to it.”

 

He bites his lip to keep from laughing at the near-pout he can hear in her voice.  She doesn’t get this worked up very often. Placing a hand on her hip, he urges her to one side.  He retrieves his daughter’s tiny sock from the bottom of the machine and turns to hand it to Tessa.  

 

She snatches it from his hand and glares, saying, “Who needs a washer this big, anyway?”  In her defense, his machine doesn’t have an agitator in the center, and the tiny sock had migrated to the very middle, making it a bit of a reach even for him.

 

“I’m pretty sure it’s normal-sized, T,” he assures.  “But I can get you one of those grabber things to get stuff from the bottom of the wash if you want.  Or a step stool,” he teases.

 

“You’re not  _ that _ much taller than me, Moir,” she snipes back.

 

“Ah, yes, but  _ I _ could reach the sock,” he reminds her.

 

She shoots him a look and mumbles something about the obvious superiority of front-loading machines as she leaves the room.

 

She’s been in a mood all morning.  He assumes it has to do with their upcoming CBC interview or maybe with their plan to have Marie France and Patrice over for dinner tomorrow evening.  He and Tessa are going to take Annika to meet his team in the afternoon, and Marie and Patch are coming into town to get an update on their progress, so they’re making time to meet Annika as well.  He knows it’s all got to be weighing on her. His nerves are getting to him a bit, too, if he’s honest.

 

He trusts the people at CBC not to throw any non-approved questions at them as much as he trusts any network not to.  Which is to say, not a lot. He and Tessa have approved the current list of questions, but there’s always an add on, always the question you don’t quite see coming.  That little gray zone makes him nervous, and he’s usually the one who’s the least skittish about these things. He doesn’t much care what people think, as a rule; not as much as Tess does anyway.  This time, though, it matters more. This time it’s about their daughter. What they say in this interview will follow her for the rest of her life, and he definitely doesn’t fool himself into thinking that being their daughter  _ won’t _ make a difference in her life.  For a few more years, she’ll be safe from it all, but some day she won’t just be herself anymore.  She’ll be “Tessa and Scott’s daughter”. Growing up Canadian, he doesn’t see how it can be avoided.  

 

He’d honestly thought that people would’ve lost interest in him and Tess by now, but it seems that people still care, despite their absence from the public eye the past few years.  He can only hope that, once their curiosity is satisfied, people will find other things to be entertained by. 

 

He plans to live a happily boring life from here on out.  Hopefully, with his family by his side. It’s a big reach, but a man has to have goals in life, and Tess and Annika are his.  He feels the pull of a life with them more and more every single day.

 

He starts the dryer that Tessa had been too distracted to remember to start and goes in search of his girls.

 

++++

 

Scott spends the afternoon entertaining Annika so that Tessa can have some time to herself to finish getting her bedroom and bathroom situated the way she wants them.  She obviously needs the alone time. She’s practically jumped out of her skin every time he’s come within three feet of her today, which he finds odd since just last night he’d been encouraged by the fact that she hadn’t pulled away from him when he’d brushed a kiss across her forehead outside of Annika’s room.  Maybe he’d pushed her too much, but he doesn’t feel like that’s it. Something else is bothering her. Typically, though, she just needs some time to sort out whatever it is in her own mind, and then she’s fine. Relying on past experience, he thinks the best thing to do, at this point, is wait her out. He’ll know when it’s time to intervene, he tells himself, and they haven’t reached that point yet.

 

Plus, he doesn’t mind the extra time with his daughter that the current situation is affording him.  Annika is the funniest, most beautiful kid he’s ever been around, he’s certain of it. When she looks at him with those eyes that are so like his own and gives him a smile that is one hundred percent Tessa, he’s filled with a level of happiness and love that defies logic.  

 

He finds himself feeling grateful to Tessa in a way he’d never anticipated.  She’s given him the absolute best thing in his life, something he hadn’t even known he wanted, and she’d done it when the easier thing would have been to give him exactly what she’d thought he’d asked for.  He knows that, at the time, not going through with the pregnancy would have been, at least in some ways, easier for her, and he shudders when he thinks about the possibility of Annika never existing. It’s terrifying and nauseating to even think about.  So, he forces the unpleasant thoughts from his mind and focuses on making sure his daughter knows that she is loved and wanted and treasured. He hopes that someday maybe Tess will let him show her that he feels those same things for her, too. At no point in time, even when he was refusing to speak to her, had he actually wanted her out of his life, and having her back here now, in his home, with their child, is pretty close to perfect.  

 

They’re not  _ quite _ there yet, though.  Things won’t be perfect until she’s truly here, with him, for the long haul.  He’s terrified that the CBC interview and all of the questions and pressure that it will surely bring is going to freak her out and derail what they’ve been working so hard at rebuilding these past few weeks, but he’s trying to have faith in her.  He’s trying to hold on to the knowledge that she’s been doing the work, too. He can see her consciously settling herself when she’s feeling overwhelmed, making herself stay still when she’d rather jump and run. He knows her too well not to see it.  It’s why he’s giving her space today without having to be told that she needs it. In years past he would have crowded her, pushed her to open up and tell him what’s bothering her. He’s learned to be more patient, though, with her and in general. So, he spends the afternoon with his daughter and leaves her mother alone for a few hours to decompress.

 

Later in the evening, his Mom and Dad come over, and they all have a nice dinner together.  His parents dote on Annika and comment on how nice it is to have them all so close by, despite the worry he can see creep into his mother’s eyes at the mention of their new living arrangements.  He knows his Mom though, and he knows that a big part of her concern stems from her trying desperately hard not to get her hopes up for something that went so spectacularly awful the last time around--namely, him and Tessa.  He doesn’t fool himself into thinking that the break between himself and Tess didn’t affect his entire family and hers as well. They’d all suffered, but he intends to make sure things go differently this time.

 

It’s with that thought in mind that he invites Tessa to watch a movie with him after they put Annika to bed that night.  He catches her hand as she leaves Anna’s room and heads for her own. She looks back at him, where he stands in the hallway that separates his bedroom from hers, with wide, slightly startled eyes.  He lets go of her hand once he has her attention, giving her a little space.

 

“Watch a movie with me?” he asks, raising his eyebrows in what he hopes is an endearingly charming way.  Once, years ago, she’d mentioned her affinity for his expressive eyebrows and he’d never forgotten the innocent remark.  He rolls his eyes at himself, internally, for holding on to a half-assed compliment from a decade ago.  _ But here we are, _ he thinks, as he continues to work the eyebrows.

 

In the end, his shenanigans pay off, and she agrees to meet him downstairs after her shower.  

 

“Don’t lay down up here and fall asleep and leave me sitting down there waiting for you,” he says, and she laughs.

 

“I would never do that,” she giggles, guiltily, because she absolutely  _ has _ done that.  More than once, even.  Back when they were younger and constantly on the go she had been known to agree to come watch a movie in his hotel room only to fall asleep in her own room, fully clothed, lights on.  On those occasions when she failed to show, he would let himself into her room--they always got two keys and traded, always--and turn out the lights before shaking her gently awake and reminding her to get up and put her pajamas on.  Every time, she’d hop in the shower still half-asleep, adamant that she’d wake up in the night feeling itchy and uncomfortable unless she washed away the grime of the day before falling into bed. And every time she’d stumble back to bed, exhausted, falling into the waiting space where Scott had turned down the blankets for her.  She’d sip from the ice cold bottle of water he’d inevitably hand her and then pass out, contentedly, for the rest of the night. He was always gone by the time she woke up, and they never discussed those late night comings and goings. In fact, he never once, in all their years of travelling together as partners, called her out for being too tired to hang out with him, but she always made it up to him by bringing him his snack du jour on their next movie night, and she never missed two movie nights in a row.  

 

Her eyes are gleaming now in the low light, full of fond memories.

 

“You would and you  _ did _ .  You forget how well I know you Tessa Jane McCormick Virtue,” he says, using her full name, teasingly.

 

“No, I don’t, Scott Patrick Moir,” she says, still smiling, though her eyes grow slightly wistful.  “I don’t forget,” she says, shaking her head. Then before he has a chance to question her further, she slips into her room, calling softly, “You go pick the movie.  I’ll be right down.” 

 

After her door clicks shut behind her, he stands there in the hall for several seconds, trying to decipher exactly what her comment was meant to convey.  In the end, he isn’t sure, but when he hears the spray of the shower kick on he decides to stop hanging around outside her door like a stalker and go pick a movie.

 

She seems to have settled down a little bit from earlier in the day, he thinks, dinner with his parents having provided a nice buffer during the early evening hours.  That and her ability to get herself settled into her new space this afternoon seems to have her feeling more grounded. She’s always liked to feel as settled as possible, even back when they would spend months at a time away from home, hopping from hotel to hotel, for competition after competition.  She’d always unpack her things just so--the same neat little row of perfume, deodorant, and face and body lotions on the bathroom vanity, the same row of shoes in the bottom of every hotel wardrobe--skates, boots, runners, heels, in that order. She hadn’t been obsessive about it, hadn’t freaked out when he switched them around just to tease her.  It had merely been something that brought her comfort in a life full of ever-changing backdrops. He couldn’t blame her. He’d had his things, too. For him, it had been GMac’s pocket watch tucked safely in his travel bag and his favorite Leafs jersey, the one she’d borrowed a thousand times, folded and placed neatly at the top of his suitcase. So, he gets it, and he feels like allowing her to take the day to get settled and get her bearings has done her a world of good.  

 

When she sits beside him on the couch the air feels lighter than it has all day.

 

“So, what are we watching?” she asks as she settles onto one end of the sofa.  She’s fresh from her shower and for a moment he’s too distracted to answer. Her skin is shiny clean and still pink with warmth, and she smells like strawberry shampoo and vanilla body wash.  It’s only when she blinks expectantly and one eyebrow begins to creep slowly toward her hairline that he snaps out of it and replies.

 

“This,” he says, smiling and hitting play.  The opening credits to The Cutting Edge begin to appear on the screen, and she smiles, widely, in obvious approval.  “I thought, in honor of our little Toepick,” he says, shrugging almost bashfully.

 

“Toooepiiick,” Tessa sing-songs, playfully.  “Good choice,” she says then, nodding. “It’s been years since I’ve seen this one.”

 

He passes her an ice cold bottle of water, and she smiles, gratefully, touched by the gentle nod to their past.  Then he settles back into the cushions, feeling content to just sit and watch a movie with his best friend. It’s been too long, and he’s missed this, missed her, terribly.  

 

By the time Kate Moseley and Doug Dorsey have skated their way to the Olympics, Tessa and Scott have melted comfortably into the couch, and Tessa’s feet have somehow found their way onto Scott’s lap.  He thinks it’s possible he might have tugged them there sometime around Kate’s “magnet” speech, he’s not really sure--the analogy about the magnets pushing away from each other over and over again when all you really needed to do was flip them over rattles him.  It’d been that way for he and Tess, he realizes; years of circling and pushing away and then one fateful night, one bad dream, and...flip.

 

The palm of his left hand cups the sharp jut of her knee, and the fingers of his right knead mindlessly into the firm flesh of her calf.  All the lights in the house are off, and it feels like they could be the last two people on Earth. To him it feels like Canton all over again, like they don’t have a baby sleeping upstairs, like they’ve never made mistakes and crossed lines and set fire to bridges they were still standing on.  

 

To her it feels the same, like all those late nights when her calves burned to the point of numbness and she never uttered a word to him, but he knew just by the look in her eyes, the way she held herself--all the nights when he would wordlessly massage her legs until she could find enough relief to fall asleep.  She bites her lip now, in the same way she did back then, as he presses his fingers into her skin. She’s wearing capri length cotton pajama pants and his hand has found its way just beneath the hem. His touch doesn’t feel sexual, though, or overwhelming. It feels comforting and familiar and emotional, because when he touches her like this she feels loved, cared for, and it’s been a really long time since she’s felt like that.  Her eyes burn, and she closes them against the unwanted sting. She focuses on the feel of his warm hand against her skin.

 

She should pull away, she knows she should, but she can’t bring herself to break the contact with him.  Not yet.

 

Over the sound of Doug confessing that somewhere along the way he’s fallen in love with Kate, Scott says in a low voice, “You seemed out of sorts today.  Everything okay now?”

 

She smiles despite the sting behind her eyelids because in this moment her anxiety over her dream seems silly.  So, she’d dreamed about that night, about having sex with him. So what? Three years ago she’d actually  _ had _ sex with him, gotten pregnant, and had his baby--dreaming about it now hardly seems like the end of the world.  Especially when he’s sitting here with her, making her feel warm and safe and loved. Even if it’s never more than this, than what they have right now--this is pretty great.  Scott is here for Annika, she has no doubt. He’s never going anywhere in that regard. She’s had a lot of time to think today, and she’s realized that having Annika to tie them together has loosened things between them somehow, made  _ them _ slightly less scary because she’s secure in the knowledge that he will always be in her life because of their daughter, and she will always be in his for the same reason.  Knowing that they will never simply drift from each other’s lives and become strangers, because they share this person between them now, allows her the freedom to imagine something more substantial between them in a way she’d always been afraid to before.  

 

Without skating, she’d always feared they’d come untethered, but this amazing kid they created is allowing her to see things in a new light.  She knows that people with children do sometimes drift apart; her own parents serve as a painful reminder of how that can happen, but it’s different with her and Scott.  With him, she knows things could be imperfect between them, and they would still share this connection, this bond, that they’ve always had. If nothing else, finding their way back into each other’s lives after all they’ve endured has taught her that.  The fear she’s carried inside of her for years, that if they tried for more outside of their partnership, their friendship, and failed, he would move on with someone else--marry  _ her _ , have babies with  _ her _ , choose  _ her _ \--recedes a little in her mind.  

 

For years, especially during their angst-filled teenage era, she’d been afraid of losing her place in his life.  She’d been his closest friend, his confidante, the person who knew him best, and he’d been all of those things for her as well.  No one who’d come and gone, relationship-wise, had altered that for either of them, but in the back of her mind she’d known it was only a matter of time before someone did come along and change it all.  

 

Of course, she’d never imagined that the shift would come in the form of one tiny, perfect Virtue-Moir hybrid with his eyes and her smile.  She’d worried, at times, that he might get some random girlfriend pregnant and that it would upend everything. Oddly enough, she thinks, she’d been sort of right.

 

Her heart aches a little as she acknowledges that he could still very well let someone else fill the place she currently, somewhat tentatively, holds in his life.  There’s a ticking clock on this strange sort of holding pattern they’re currently in, and she knows it. They aren’t in a relationship, and they aren’t currently seeking relationships with other people, but that won’t hold true forever.  For a very brief second she allows herself to imagine coming home to this house, to him. She imagines Christmases spent opening presents with Annika and Scott under a giant tree downstairs, she imagines nights spent curled up in Scott’s arms, and she imagines a sweet, little outgoing Moir boy of their own.  Then she imagines being a visitor in this house--dropping Annika off with Scott while he shares everything she’d just pictured with someone else. Her stomach physically aches at the thought, and she forces the hurtful images out of her mind. She has a big decision to make, and she knows it needs to be sooner rather than later--she either trusts him enough to explore what’s always been here between them, or she doesn’t.  The longer she takes to make that choice, the harder it will be if the answer is no.

 

She opens her eyes to find him watching her.

 

He stares into her green eyes and wonders what in the world she’s thinking.  She seems relaxed, but sad, and he hates the touch of pain he sees in her eyes, because it’s the emotional kind--the kind no amount of gentle massaging, on his part, can ease.

 

“We’re okay, aren’t we?” he asks, willing to apologize for whatever he might have done.

 

“I had a dream about us last night,” she confesses.  They are cocooned in the soft, blue glow of the television screen, darkness all around them, and she’s feeling lulled by the feel of his hands and the steady, concerned look in his eyes.  Her eyes drop down to watch his fingers move rhythmically against the skin of her calf. His hands are strong and as familiar to her as her own, and they are so comforting against her skin.  “I dreamed about that night,” she clarifies. “About the nightmare I had and you waking me up and--and what happened after.” His hand pauses against her skin, and her eyes flick back to his.  His gaze remains steady, though, so she continues, “It just threw me, I guess, you know?” 

 

She’s trusting him with this, and she waits patiently to see what he does with the information.  There’s no better way to know if she can trust him to be the man she’d once known him to be, she thinks, than to try.

 

He knows she’s putting herself out there with her confession, and he handles her vulnerability accordingly.  Slowly, he removes his hand from inside her pant leg and slips it inside the opposite one, beginning the same slow, rhythmic kneading against her other leg.  He feels her muscle tighten and then relax under his fingers. “Must’ve been pretty overwhelming. That night was...intense,” he says, choosing the last word carefully.  He means emotionally, not sexually, though  _ obviously _ it had been the most sexually intense experience of his life.

 

“Yeah,” she replies, and if her voice comes out a little raspy he doesn’t call her on it.  “Anyway, I was just in my head about it, but I’m fine. We’re fine,” she assures him, smiling sleepily in the dim light.  She feels better for having been honest about what’s been bothering her. She misses this easy honesty between them. He used to be her person, the one who finished her sentences and danced with her at parties and brought her snacks she didn’t even realize she needed until her stomach growled at the sight of whatever perfect mosel he’d managed to scrounge up for her.  She misses that closeness, misses  _ him _ , but she’s a little scared about the ease with which she can feel herself settling back into a life with him at the center of it.  She needs to tread very carefully here and not lose herself to something that’s always been bigger than the both of them. She wonders again about the wisdom of moving in here, with him.

 

“You didn’t have to,” Doug tells Kate, his voice echoing softly from the tv screen, drawing Tessa’s attention with the earnestness of his tone.

 

“Yes, I did,” she replies.  And there is an audible certainty in her voice.

 

“Why?” he asks, clearly mystified.

 

“Because I love you,” she says, simply.

 

Her words hang heavily in the air between them for several seconds before they have Tessa sitting up, swiftly, and pulling her feet out of Scott’s lap, self-consciously.  He lets his hands fall away, allowing her to retreat to her end of the sofa without protest. The movie is ending, and the perfect little cocoon they’ve found themselves in this last little while seems to dissolve a little around them, letting the real world begin to creep back in.

 

By the time the first soulful notes of Joe Cocker’s  _ Feels Like Forever _ blare triumphantly from the tv screen, the steel guitar soulfully celebrating Doug and Kate’s happily-ever-after, Tessa is already rising to her feet.  “I better get to bed if we’re going to meet your team tomorrow,” she says, apologetically. “We need to run to the grocery store in the morning and pick up things for dinner with Marie and Patch before we leave for the rink.  And, anyway, Anna will be up early.” She’s babbling and she knows it, but suddenly she’s feeling the need to retreat to the safety of her room. It’s been a good couple of hours, and she just wants to sit with this newly rekindled closeness for a little bit, let it steep.  She’s done a lot of thinking today, and her head is swimming.

 

Scott watches Tessa, silently, gauging her reaction.  She seems a little flustered, but still sleepy and soft--not panicked, just retreating to her corner for a bit.  He knows this Tessa. She is as familiar to him as his own reflection. He is not afraid of her. “What time do you want to leave in the morning?” he asks her, keeping his voice purposefully low and unconcerned.

 

“Nine?” she says, sounding tentative.  “It depends on whether someone wants to feed our daughter breakfast while I get ready or not,” she says, without even a hint of subtlety.  She’s going for levity, and it works.

 

“I think I can handle that,” he says, smiling and rising from the sofa.  Then he adds, “So, nine then.”

 

It isn’t really a question, but she says, “Yep, nine o’clock.”  Before the moment can turn turn awkward, Tessa hurries to say, “Okay, well, I’ll see you in the morning then, I guess.”  She heads for the stairs, leaving Scott to turn off the movie and find his way in the dark.

 

“Hey, Tess,” she hears him call just as she reaches the bottom step.  She pauses, waiting.

 

“Yeah?” she asks, quietly.

 

“Thanks for staying up with me,” he says, and in the soft light cast by the moon she thinks he looks boyishly young.  “It felt like old times,” he murmurs, smiling.

 

“It did,” she agrees, returning his smile.  “It was nice,” she says, knowing it’s a lame answer even as the words are coming out of her mouth.  As she starts climbing the stairs toward her room, she manages a quick save with, “I loved your choice, but next time it’s my turn to pick the movie though, ‘kay?”

 

_ Next time _ .  He sees what she did there.

 

“Deal,” he says, tossing the remote onto the coffee table and moving to check the lock on the front door before following her up the stairs.  “Night, Tess,” he calls, quietly, as he nears their daughter’s room.

 

“G’night,” he hears her stage whisper as she closes her bedroom door behind her.

 

He peeks his head into Annika’s room.  She’s asleep in the middle of her pink, canopied toddler bed, knees tucked under her and bottom in the air.  Her Tinkerbell comforter is half on the floor, and he smiles at the sight. She’s a restless sleeper, just like her Mama.  His heart expands a little in his chest as he steps forward and lifts the blanket up from the carpet, tucking it back over his daughter’s sleeping form.  He kneels down and lays a hand lightly on her back, feeling her tiny shoulders rise and fall, reassuringly. He regards her for several long moments. With her eyes closed, she looks so much like Tess it’s uncanny.  After several seconds, he brushes her silky, chestnut hair back from her face and presses a kiss to the apple of her cheek. It’s pink with sleep and comfortingly warm against his lips. “Night, Toepick,” he whispers.  “Daddy loves you.”

 

With that, he rises and heads to his own room.  Tomorrow is going to be a big day, and he’s more than ready for it.

  
  
  


++++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, let's meet Scott's team, shall we? Bc they really want to meet Annika and maybe Tessa, too (just a little bit).


	19. NINETEEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My first born to peacefulboo for her ninja beta skills. <3
> 
> Also, this is another sort of long chapter, but I feel like the subject matter warranted it.

++++

 

Tessa walks a few paces behind Scott as he pushes Annika through the grocery store parking lot.  Her daughter’s whispy hair rises on the breeze as he gives the cart a push and steps onto the bottom of the metal basket, coasting them forward across the lot toward Tessa’s RXD.  Annika cackles, her voice rising through the crisp air, clean and bright. Tessa can’t help but smile in response when Scott flashes a satisfied grin over his left shoulder. He’s managed to elicit Annika’s rare belly laugh, the one they both adore.  Tessa’s eyes move over her daughter, and she takes in the blue and white striped tights she’s sporting along with the most impossibly tiny Leafs jersey she’s ever seen--both of which were recently purchased by Scott. 

 

Her eyes are drawn to him as he drops one foot to the ground and drags it along the asphalt, bringing the shopping cart to a halt behind her SUV.  He begins loading the groceries into the back, chatting animatedly with Annika the whole time. Their little girl says something he finds particularly funny, and he throws his head back and full-on belly laughs in response.   _ Like father, like daughter, _ she muses, silently.  The look on his face is one of sheer happiness.  

 

A man walking by with two small boys smiles in response, and he and Scott share a brief, silent nod of acknowledgement, the kind she’s shared a hundred times in public with fellow moms.  Scott’s eyes are shining when he turns to face her. He’s proud of Anna, she can tell, and it warms something inside of her to know she’s given him this.

 

_ If only I’d known this is what you needed after Sochi _ , she thinks, amused.

 

“What?” he asks, grinning and tilting his head to one side, suspicion evident in the playful squint of his eyes.

 

She shakes her head.   _ Nothing _ , she says, without words.

 

He seems so different now, so grounded.  She thinks a lot of it is Annika coming into his life, but it’s not only that.  He’s been making a real go of things with this coaching job. He’d been telling her a little more about it this morning, and she’s actually even more excited to meet his team now than she had been before.

 

“Do you think they have something?” she’d asked him, one hip propped against the kitchen counter as she’d popped a wedge of freshly peeled orange into her mouth.

 

“I mean, they’re still pretty young, but I think maybe that’s why Marie and Patch sent them my way.  They knew I’d see what they saw. I think...yeah, I think they really have a shot at going all the way,” he’d said, quietly, like it wasn’t easy for him to say, like it was a confession of sorts.

 

“Scott, that’s amazing,” she’d said, truly happy for him and strangely proud of the trust Marie and Patch had placed in him.

 

“I just hope I have what it takes to get them there, you know?” he’d said.  “Or at the very least, the humility to hand them off to someone else who can when the time comes,” he’d added, laughing lightly as if he was joking, though she isn’t totally sure that he was.

 

“Hey, if they have the raw talent, I have no doubt you can get them to the Olympics,” she’d replied, seriously.  “Right, Baby?” she’d asked, tickling Annika under her chin. “Is Daddy’s team gonna go to the Olympics?” 

 

“Daddy team ‘limpics!” Anna had agreed with gusto, thrusting her spoon into the air and swaying back and forth, rocking her highchair slightly from side to side with the force of her excited movements.

 

Scott had placed a hand automatically on the back of the chair, steadying it, while stepping forward to place a kiss on the forehead of his biggest (and smallest) supporter.  “Thanks kiddo,” he’d said into her hair, though his eyes had been on Tessa’s, and she still isn’t sure which of them he’d been talking to.

 

After that, true to his word, he’d taken full charge of Anna’s care so that she was free to get ready in peace, and thanks to that assist from Daddy, the three of them had actually managed to leave his house by ten till nine, which was, surprisingly, right on schedule.  

 

The only thing Tessa had ended up having to do was change Annika’s shoes.  Bless his heart, Scott had dressed her in pink and white runners that hadn’t matched her outfit at all.  Tess had managed to find a pair of tiny blue Uggs at the last minute and convinced her daughter to change into them before they left the house.  She’d let the slightly crooked ponytail he’d managed to fashion their daughter’s hair into go without comment though. She simply hadn’t had the heart to tell him that it wasn’t tight enough and was going to need to be redone by the time they reached the grocery store.  Instead, she’d kept quiet and let Scott savor his first full pass at Anna’s morning routine. He’d done quite well, over all, she thinks.

 

Now, at only a little past ten, they have plenty of time to get home, unload the groceries, and still have lunch and maybe a quick walk around the neighborhood before they have to get ready to leave for the rink.  

 

She’s impressed.

 

++++

 

Marie and Patch aren’t due in until this evening around six, so that gives them several hours to hang out with Scott’s team, which he seems really excited about if his nearly palpable energy is anything to go by.  He’ll be at the rink most of the day tomorrow so that Marie and Patch can watch his skaters go through their routines. It’ll be all business and strategy then, but today is all about Annika and introducing her to the important people in his professional life, the ones he considers to be important in his personal life as well.

 

Scott drives them to the rink in Tessa’s RDX, which they are using mostly because Annika’s car seat is already installed in it.  They’ve ordered a second one for Scott’s car, but it hasn’t arrived yet, so rather than playing musical cars with the bulky carseat, they’ve just been driving the SUV.  They arrive at the rink at just past one, and once Scott finds a spot close to the front doors and gets parked Tessa hops out, eager to feast her eyes on the familiar surroundings.  It’s been three years since she’s set foot on this particular patch of ground, and she’s missed it. She opens the back door and unclips Annika’s safety restraints, lifting her from her seat and gathering her into her arms.  She settles the girl’s slight weight easily against her hip and moves to the rear of the SUV, searching for Scott. He joins them seconds later, a large gear bag in hand. “Should we wait for you up front?” she asks, as they make their way toward the large glass double doors.  “Or do you want us to come in with you?”

 

“You might as well just come in with me,” he replies, tucking Tessa’s keys into the front pocket of his jeans.  “I think Kallie will kill me if I show up without you two,” he says, chuckling. “I’m pretty sure she’s as excited to meet you as she is to meet Annika, honestly.”

 

“How long have they been skating together?” Tessa asks, needing a reminder, even though she knows he’s told her this before.

 

“About five years,” he says.  “Since she was eight and he was nine.  They remind me a lot of us, actually. Although they argue a lot more vocally than you and I ever did.  She has a surprisingly colorful vocabulary when he gets her riled up. She’s pretty good about reigning it in though, when we’re at competition.  She knows there’s a time and a place to vent, which I’ve warned her is not in front of our daughter.”

 

“Thank you for that,” she laughs as they enter the lobby.  

 

“She’s a good kid though, they both are.  She wouldn’t--” he cuts off, abruptly. Before they can reach the doorway that leads into the main part of the rink, before he even manages to finish his sentence, a teenage boy with dark hair and eyes dashes around the corner, nearly colliding with Scott head on.  He swerves around him at the last second, slowing to halt behind the three of them, just as a pretty young girl with equally dark hair and stunning blue eyes rounds the corner after him. 

 

“So help me God, Mase, if you don’t give that back to me, I’m going to kick your--” her words die in her throat as she comes face to face with Scott.  Eyes flicking toward Tessa and Annika she finishes, lamely, “I’m gonna kill you.” Her eyes weave past the three of them to land squarely on the boy who’d preceded her through the doorway, and Tessa reads the message in them loud and clear.  Whatever he’s done, he’s been saved solely by their presence, though for how long seems uncertain.

 

Tessa takes in the girl’s slightly disheveled appearance and assumes they’ve either just come from the ice or were in the process of heading out onto the ice.  She’s obviously in warm ups, but she’s also in sock feet, holding a single skate guard in one hand.

 

“What’s going on here?” Scott asks, his tone patient, but slightly wary.  

 

“It’s my fault,” Tessa hears from behind them, and she turns her head to regard the boy who’s currently making his way back around toward the girl.  “I took her notebook,” he says, holding a spiral-bound book out to the girl, who snatches it from his hand, but refuses to make eye contact with him.  “I was just going to rip a blank piece of paper out of it to spit my gum in, not eat your math homework. Jeez, Kallie,” he says, confirming Tessa’s suspicion that these two are, in fact, Scott’s team.  Kallie Bakas and Mase Radley.

 

“That’s not my math homework,” Kallie manages through clenched teeth.  “And if you’d have asked for a piece of paper, I would have given you one, but not out of my journal,” she huffs, cheeks slightly pink.

 

_ Ah _ , Tessa thinks,  _ there it is _ .

 

Scott gets it, too.  She can tell by the pitying look he gives them both, but which neither of them is privy to because both of their heads are slightly bowed, either in shame for being caught acting like children or to avoid eye contact with each other, she’s not sure which.  She thinks it’s probably a little bit of both.

 

Scott saves them from themselves by making a timely introduction.  “Tess, this is my team,” he says, his voice full of affection despite the way the duo had plowed into the room just moments before.  “I’d like you to meet Kallie Bakas and Mase Radley. Kallie, Mase, this is my--this is Tessa Virtue.”

 

Tessa forgives him the stumble and holds out her free hand to Mase, who’s standing closest to her.  “Hi Mase, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Tess,” she says, shaking his hand. She turns to the young girl next to him then.  “Kallie, so nice to meet you,” she says, shaking her hand as well. “I’ve heard so much about you both,” she says, smiling.

 

“Oh, my gosh, Ms. Virtue, it’s our pleasure to meet you,” Kallie says, clearly struggling to reign in her emotions.  Her large blue eyes shine with excitement, and Tessa can’t help but see how beautiful she is. She’s truly striking, even at this young age.  “You and Scott both have been such an inspiration to Mase and I,” she finally manages, remaining fairly eloquent despite her obvious case of nerves.

 

“Tess is fine,” Tessa assures her.  “No need to be formal,” she says. “Right Bean?” she asks turning her attention to Annika.  “We’re a pretty laid back lot,” she says, smiling first at her daughter and then at Scott.

 

He takes her cue then, reaching for Annika.  She goes to him easily, and he holds her against his chest.  

 

“Kal, Mase, this is my daughter, Annika,” he says, smiling proudly.  

 

“Hi, Annika,” Kallie says, sweetly.  “She’s  _ really _ beautiful, you guys,” she adds, then, addressing them both, and Tessa can hear the sincerity in her voice.

 

“Thank you,” she and Scott say, at the same time, and then laugh at the strangeness of the moment.  It’s the first time they’ve jointly introduced their daughter to someone who isn’t family, she realizes with a start.

 

“Hello, Annika,” Mase says, stepping forward to greet her.  He smiles and his features, already boyishly handsome, become downright gorgeous.  They are quite the pair, these two, Tessa thinks, taking a moment to view them side by side.  They compliment each other. They both have dark hair and light skin tones, and Mase stands about a head taller than Kallie at present, though given their ages she realizes that could still change.  For now though, they are perfectly suited for skating as a pair, aesthetically speaking, anyway. “How old are you?” he asks, Anna. “Do you know how old you are?”

 

Annika lays her head on Scott’s shoulder and for a second Tessa thinks her outgoing child might for once be overcome with bashfulness, but it only lasts for a moment.  In the next instant, her head pops up, followed closely by a hand holding up two awkwardly extended fingers.

 

“You’re  _ two _ ?” he asks, pretending to be duly impressed.  “Wow,” he says, glancing over at his partner, widening his smile when he sees that she’s smiling now, too.  He gives her a small wink and a familiar nudge with his shoulder. “Hear that, Thea?” he asks. “She’s  _ two _ ,” he says, really laying the charm on thick for their daughter’s benefit.  It’s pretty sweet, honestly.

 

“I thought your name was Kallie,” Tessa says, trying to clarify, lest she mess up and call one of Scott’s star skaters by the wrong name.

 

“Ugh,” the girl says, turning to address Tessa.  “It’s actually Kallithea,” she says, making a face.  “I’m named after the city in Greece where I was conceived, apparently.  It’s the  _ worst _ ,” she says, sounding truly pained.

 

“Aww, I think it’s beautiful,” Tessa says, and she means it.  

 

“Thanks,” Kallie says, sincerely.  “Anyway, I go by Kallie, professionally.  Personally, too, really. This one’s the only one who calls me Thea,” she says, pointing her thumb behind her, at Mase.

 

Tessa catches the small smile that flits across his lips in response to his partner’s words, though from where Kallie is standing Tessa is sure the young girl can’t see it.  Something familiar in their interaction pricks at her subconscious, but before she can put much thought into it Annika interrupts. “I Toepick!” she near-shouts, reaching forward to tap Mase on the shoulder and draw his attention back from his partner.

 

They all laugh, and then Annika laughs, too, unsure what she did to inspire the attention, but happy to have all eyes on her, nonetheless.

 

“That’s her nickname, obviously,” Tessa clarifies.  “One of many, but it seems to be the one she likes best right now.”

 

“I don’t blame her,” Mase says.  “It’s a pretty awesome nickname.”

 

“Hey, Toepick,” Kallie says, tugging on the toe of one tiny blue Ugg.  “You wanna come watch this crazy guy and I skate?”   
  


“Yeah!” Annika agrees, happily, though Tessa is ninety-nine point nine percent certain her daughter has no idea what the teenage girl is talking about.

 

As they make their way into the rink and find a spot just near the opening in the boards Tess says, “She does  _ not _ get that from me.”

 

“What?” Scott asks, looking at Annika to see what she’s doing.

 

“She’s a little flirt,” Tessa explains.  “Did you see the way she pulled Mase’s attention back from Kallie?  She could give a master class,” she says, laughing. At his slightly panicked look, Tessa laughs harder and places a hand comfortingly on the forearm that’s currently supporting their daughter’s weight.  “Don’t worry, I don’t think it was a conscious effort on her part. Not yet anyway.”

 

“So you’re saying she’s a natural flirt?  That’s not making me feel better, T,” he says, his face vacillating between looks of amusement and discomfort.

 

“Well, you only have yourself to blame for this one,” she says, shrugging out of her pea coat and placing it on the plastic seat behind her.  At his incredulous look she says, “You know I’ve always been terrible at flirting. You, on the other hand, could medal in it, if they’d make it an Olympic sport.”  It’s true. He’s the world’s biggest flirt. It’s always come so easy to him, while she is so awkward and just  _ bad _ at it.  He looks slightly offended or like he’s worried she’s calling him out for bad behavior.  “It’s not a bad thing,” she clarifies. “I love that she has your outgoing personality. I  _ want _ her to be outgoing and confident, not awkward and shy like I was.  I don’t want her to doubt herself, ever,” she says, softly.

 

“You never had anything to be doubtful of, Tess,” he says.  “You just couldn’t see what everyone else saw so easily. You never needed to be unsure, though, still don’t,” he says, and his eyes are sincere as they stare back at her.  

 

She looks down as she feels a slight blush rise into her cheeks.  She hadn’t been fishing for a compliment, but his words are nice to hear all the same.  She glances back up him through a thick veil of dark lashes and says, quietly, “Thanks, Kiddo.”

 

He stares at her for a moment longer, the silence between them lengthening and pulling taut, like a tightly stretched bow string.  Finally, he breaks eye contact, dropping into a hard plastic chair and placing Anna on the floor between his feet. He tugs his skates free from the bag he’d brought in with them and slips them onto his feet, lacing them in silence, pausing to let Annika “help” tie them.  It’s not until he stands and moves over to the opening in the boards that he finally speaks again. He removes his skate guards and tosses them, haphazardly, onto the wide rail, then, just as he’s stepping out onto the ice he says, “You’re not as bad at it as you think you are.”

 

For a second, she’s confused, but then as she replays their conversation in her mind she gets what he’s saying, and she smiles at his back as he glides out to center ice where Kallie and Mase are waiting for him.  She may not be as bad at it as she thinks, but he’s still better.

 

She spends the next forty-five minutes watching Scott put his team through their paces, offering an encouraging word here and a minor suggestion there when prompted.  She’s careful not to overstep, though. This is Scott’s baby, not hers, and she’s content to let that be the case. Plus, her attention is split between the two kids on the ice and the one current snuggled against her chest.  

 

Annika’s sitting on top of the wide rail, her legs dangling a few feet above the ice, while Tessa stands directly behind her, giving her a soft place to lean while she watches her Daddy and his team glide around the rink.  Another forty-five minutes pass, and Tessa finds herself duly impressed with both Scott’s team and his obvious knack for coaching.  _ Talk about natural ability _ , she thinks.  He draws the moves and the emotions he’s looking for out of his team with ease and all without belittling them or picking at their slightest imperfections.

 

For their part, Kallie and Mase are quite impressive as well.  They move together with practiced ease, and they are total professionals.  Whatever silly argument they’d had earlier had been immediately set aside as they stepped onto the ice, though she suspects they’d let it go even before that.  Their attention has been one hundred percent focused on Scott and each other the entire hour and a half they’ve been out there, without exception, and she knows how difficult that can be with an audience invading your practice space.

 

Just as she’s deliberating if she should make a quick trip to the washroom with Anna, she hears the double doors to the front entrance squeak open.  She turns to look and finds Scott’s Uncle Paul waltzing through them, carrying a bag with the Moir Skate Shop logo on it.

 

“Okay guys,” she hears Scott say.  “Dance it out for a bit, eh?” In the next instant he’s gliding to a stop in front of her, meeting her eyes over the top of their daughter’s head.  “So, I did something,” he says. “And I hope you won’t mind,” he adds, smiling hopefully.

 

She glances back at Paul and then at the bag in his hands, and she thinks she knows what it is that he’s done.  The bag is too small to hold adult sized skates, so she’s pretty sure she knows what’s inside.

 

“When we unpacked Annika’s room, I didn’t see any skates, so I thought…” he trails off as Paul approaches.

 

“Special delivery,” the older Moir calls, cheerfully, as he sidles up next to Tessa.

 

“Hey, Paul,” Tessa says, tilting her head toward him but keeping her arms securely around her daughter’s wiggling form as he leans in to give her a side hug.  “Whatcha got there?” she asks, smiling knowingly at Scott.

 

“Well, a little birdy told me that my great niece does not, in fact, own a pair of figure skates yet, and obviously, as a Moir, her first pair needed to come from the shop,” he says, smiling kindly and placing the bag on the rail beside Annika.

 

Tessa twitches a little at his  _ as a Moir _ comment, but smiles, gratefully.  As far as she knows, Paul doesn’t know what Annika’s full legal name is, and she  _ is _ a Moir, whether that’s her actual last name or not.  Shrugging it off, Tessa beams at Scott’s uncle. “Thank you so much, Paul, that’s so sweet.”

 

“Well, let’s just hope they fit.  Scott gave me her shoe size, but without an actual fitting I can’t promise they’ll be perfect.”

 

“I’m sure they’ll be just fine.  If anyone can make an educated guess about skate size it’s you,” she says, meaning every word.  No one knows their way around a skate like an elder Moir, especially Paul.

 

“Ah, buddy!  These are great, Uncle Paul,” Scott breathes as he tugs the toddler skates free of the box they’d arrived in.  They are tiny and the palest shade of pink, and for a second Tessa thinks she might cry at the sight of them. She’d purposefully avoided thinking about the day she’d have to buy Annika’s first pair of skates because it’d felt wrong to even consider taking her skating without Scott.  Even when she’d thought he wanted no part in their daughter’s life, it still felt wrong to think about celebrating that milestone without him. Of course, it’d felt wrong to skate without him in general, but she had eventually forced herself to do it at Sarah’s suggestion. Her therapist had insisted that she needed the outlet and that skating was as much a part of  _ her _ as it was  _ them _ and she needed to remember that.  She’d been right, of course, and Tessa had felt a million times better once she’d stepped back out onto the ice, but she’d never been able to break the habit of constantly checking her peripheral vision for Scott.  

 

Just like she’d overcome her hesitation to get on the ice without him, she’s sure she would have eventually let Annika learn to skate without him, too--she is Canadian after all--but, thankfully, she hadn’t gotten there yet, and this is one first, one very significant first, that Scott will not miss out on.  She presses a knuckle to the corner of her eye to absorb the tiny bit of moisture that’s gathering there and smiles at Scott as he gives her hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

 

“Can you stick around to watch her try them out?” Scott asks as he begins tugging Anna’s tiny blue boots from her feet, stopping to straighten her socks before slipping the first skate into place and getting to work on the laces.

 

“Nah, I have to get back to the shop, unfortunately.  Just glad I could get away long enough to run these over here,” he says.  “You kids take care though, and take some video for Alma and Joe, will ya?  I know they won’t want to miss this.”

 

“Absolutely,” Scott assures his uncle, reaching over the boards to give him a loose hug before the older man nods and starts to head back in the direction from which he’d entered.

 

“Annika,” Scott says, tugging the laces on her tiny skates one more time, testing to make sure they’re secure.  “Are you ready to try out your new skates?”

 

“Yeah!” she cheers, happily, clunking the heavy skates against the boards, obviously enjoying the hollow thumping sound.

 

“Okay, then tell Mama to get her skates on,” he says, his eyes flicking to Tessa’s, mischievously.

 

“What?” she asks, surprised.  “I don’t have my…” her voice trails off as she watches him nod his head toward the bag at her feet.  “Scott, did you pack my skates?” she asks, bending down to tug open the loose flaps of the large canvas bag.  Nestled inside are her beat up old skates.

 

“I swiped them from the garage the day Trevor helped us move your stuff in.  I saw them, and I just thought, maybe this is something we could do together if she’s never done it before, you know?” he says, hopefully.  She looks up at him then, watches as his hand shifts up and down along Annika’s tiny back, holding her securely in her spot atop the boards, supporting her, loving her.  Her throat aches, suddenly, and she swallows against the uncomfortable lump that’s forming there.

 

“I don’t know what to say,” she whispers, green eyes shining.  Truth be told, she’s a little overwhelmed by the moment. The thought of skating with Scott again after all this time is emotionally jarring enough, but the thought of taking the ice with their daughter between them is almost too much for her to fathom.

 

“Has she ever been skating before?” he asks, pretty sure he knows the answer.  He knows she didn’t have skates of her own before today, and he’s pretty sure Tess would never stick their child in rented skates.  He’s hoping that skating without him had seemed as foreign and unnatural to her as it had to him, and that maybe, just maybe, those same feelings had held her back from taking their daughter out on the ice without him.

 

“No, never,” she replies, solemnly, and the look on her face tells him exactly what he’d wanted to know.  She’d saved this moment, even if not completely on purpose, she’d saved it all the same. This is something they were always meant to do together.  

 

“Then lace up, Virtch,” he says, infusing some playfulness into his tone to try to lighten the mood.  “Let’s teach our baby how to skate.”

 

He thinks her hands are trembling as she tightens the laces on her beat up, white skates, but by the time he takes her hand as she steps out onto the ice it feels steady as a rock.  

 

He lets go of her hand long enough to lift Annika from the rail and place her gently on her feet between them.  She wobbles slightly, and he can’t help but laugh at the look of concentration that’s suddenly adorning her delicate features.  As he watches, Tessa reaches out a steadying hand and Annika grabs onto it without even looking up, seeming to know instinctively that Tessa will be there, supporting her.

 

“You ready, Anna?” he asks, his eyes seeking hers.  When she looks up at him, he feels a stab of emotion so deep his knees nearly buckle in response.  

 

“Red-dy!” she chirps, smiling excitedly, all the while dangling crookedly from Tessa’s hand while her skates slip to and fro on the ice, not quite finding purchase on the slick surface.  

 

He steps forward and takes her right hand in his left, and immediately she finds her balance between the two of them.  “You ready?” he asks Tessa, turning to meet her gaze. He finds her knucking the corner of her eye again with her free hand and it’s like a punch to his gut.  “Hey, none of that,” he whispers, reaching over with his right hand and wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

 

She laughs, smiling, and closes her eyes, briefly, sending two more tears sliding down her cheeks.  

 

“Tess,” he whispers, pained.  He hadn’t meant to make her cry.  He spins toward her easily until his chest is facing her shoulder, and he reaches forward to cup the side of her face, tilting her head toward him until her temple comes to rest against his mouth.  Her hair is soft against his lips, and he presses a kiss there. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, Kiddo,” he whispers, and his own eyes well a little in response to the shuddery sound her breath is making as it leaves her body and puffs against his chest.

 

“I’m fine,” she says, pulling away, slowly, though her voice hitches a little on the word  _ fine _ .  “Once upon a time you said hearing me laugh and cry at the same time was your favorite sound in the world, remember?” she reminds him, using her fingers to swipe away the few stray tears that have managed to escape despite her best efforts to keep them at bay.

 

He smiles then, because, hell yes, he remembers saying that.  He remembers  _ feeling _ that.  “I remember,” he says, nodding.  “Still true,” he admits. “I just need a little more laughing and a little less crying, I think.”

 

She laughs then.  “Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” she promises.  Then, to Annika, she says, “Okay, Baby. You ready?”

 

“Yeah!” Annika says, this time her tone implying that she’s  _ been _ ready.

 

“Okay, here we go,” Tessa says, and together they push off, guiding Annika along between them.  She’s wobbly, but light, so it’s easy enough for them to keep her upright and moving forward. 

 

Scott leans down as they glide along, tapping Anna’s right leg, and telling her, “Push with this foot, see?” before demonstrating pushing off with his right foot and then gliding with his left.  It’s not perfect, but she follows instruction well, and before too long she’s got the general idea. 

 

“Bend your knees, Bean,” Tessa tells her.  “Like this,” she says, crouching slightly so that Anna can see what she means.  

 

Together, they help her find her center of gravity and sense of balance, and it’s funny, he thinks, because isn’t that exactly what he and Tess have done for each other, both on and off the ice, for years?  He supposes it’s only fitting they do the same for their child.

 

They spend a good thirty minutes circling the rink, staying right along the boards, and then another fifteen kneeling about ten feet apart on the ice, letting the hard surface melt into the knees of their pants while Annika wobbles back and forth between them.  Twice, her legs slide in opposite directions and she goes down like Bambi on the ice, but both times she comes up smiling and laughing. In the end, Tessa has to call an end to the skate because she recognizes the particularly urgent way in which her daughter keeps crossing her legs, but by that point she and Scott are both laughing happily and gasping for breath in the cold air.

 

By the time Tessa and Annika make their way back from the washroom, which in and of itself was a mini-lesson in the art of balancing off ice in skate guards, Kallie and Mase are skating back from the far end of the rink where they’d spent the time Scott and Tessa were on the ice with Annika practicing individual lifts and bits of choreo.  

 

Now though, they seem to be finishing up for the day, and Scott is giving them what sounds like homework.  “Think about your entrances on those lifts, the amount of power you need going into the turn just before. You need to know when to push and when to pull back a little so you’re not losing control because of too much forward momentum,” he coaches.  “See it in your head, visualize it, but rest your bodies and hydrate overnight, okay?” he asks, and they both nod, obediently.

 

“Can we take Annika around the ice before we go?” Kallie asks, hopefully.  Scott turns to Tessa, lifting his brows, seeking her permission. 

 

_ What do you think? _ he asks, silently. 

 

She shrugs.   _ Your call _ , she answers, also without words.   _ Do you trust them? _

 

He turns back to his team.  “You’ll have to ask her,” he says.  “If she wants to go out again, it’s okay with me, but I want you both holding onto her at all times, got it?” he asks, seriously, but not unkindly.

 

“What do you say, Toepick?” Mase asks Annika.  “You want to come skate with us?”

 

Annika is in such a hurry to get back on the ice she falls twice before she gets to the opening in the boards, and Tessa has to snag her by the back of her jersey to keep her from stepping out onto the ice with her skate guards still in place.

 

Once Kallie and Mase move to center ice, taking Annika with them, Scott skates over to the opening in the boards and holds his hand out to Tessa.  “What do you say, Kiddo?” he asks. “Wanna go for a spin around the old rink, just me and you?” His heart is beating a little faster than usual, and from the look on her face, he thinks at first she might say no.  He watches her hesitate, but then something in her expression shifts, and she reaches out and takes his hand. 

 

“Okay,” she says, quietly, reaching behind her to slip off her skate guards.  She lets them drop to the padded floor before stepping back out onto the ice with him, and he has to smile to himself, because gone are the days of her having to have her guards placed  _ just so _ on the boards.  In that way, motherhood has been good for her, he thinks.  She’s more confident, more unguarded, less regimented--she doesn’t sweat the small stuff so much.

 

Her hand feels small in his, but good, familiar,  _ right _ .  As they take the first turn, he feels the easy way they glide together and his eyes slip closed, confident that she will guide him through the next one unscathed.  He’s nearly forgotten what it sounds like to have someone’s blades be in perfect synchronicity with his own. 

 

He doesn’t skate with anyone else.  Just the odd turn here and there when he needs to show Kallie and Mase a particular move and can’t articulate it well enough with words to get his point across, so he’s forced to demonstrate for one or the other of them what he means.  Other than that, never. Tess is his partner, then and now.  _ Always _ , he thinks.

 

They don’t do anything fancy, content to just move around the perimeter of the rink, hand in hand, relearning the rhythm of skating side by side.  Without Anna between them, they move fluidly, effortlessly, and it’s easy to forget how much time has passed since the last time they did this. There’s something healing about taking the ice with her again, even here in their small, hometown rink, maybe  _ especially _ here in their small, hometown rink.  By the time they glide to a halt at center ice, ready to reclaim their child, Tessa’s cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, and he’s pretty sure he’s wearing the stupidest grin he’s worn in years.

 

And if his eyes linger on her face a little longer than necessary and her eyes shine a little more brightly than they had before she’d stepped out onto the ice with him, his young team is mature enough and professional enough not to comment on it.

 

Just as they’re stepping off the ice, though, and preparing to pack all of their skates back into the duffel Scott carried in with them, Kallie glides up to the boards.  “Hey Coach,” she calls, getting Scott’s attention. “I took some video of you guys with Annika. I hope you don’t mind, but Mase and I heard what Paul said, and I thought...for Alma,” she says, shrugging.  “I can just delete it if you don’t want it, I mean, I know everyone doesn’t like  _ know _ about…” she trails off, her eyes lingering on Annika.  “And I didn’t want to invade your privacy or anything,” she says, more to Tessa than to Scott.  “But a first skate, that’s something you only get once, you know?”

 

“Thank you so much, Kallie,” Tessa says, her sincerity audible in her voice.  “That was truly thoughtful of you. We’d love to have it, and I know Alma will be thrilled.”

 

“Thanks, Kal,” Scott says, ruffling the teenager’s hair, playfully.  “You know you’re already Mom’s favorite though, right?” he asks. “Aside from these two, anyway,” he clarifies, nodding toward where Tessa sits unlacing Annika’s skates.  “You don’t have to bribe her with videos of her grandchild.”

 

“Aren’t I everyone’s favorite though?” she asks, her voice full of mock-vanity.  She grins then, not really waiting for a reply, and says, “I’ll text you the video.  See ya tomorrow, Coach!” Then, “Bye Tess, bye Annika!”

 

“Bye!” they all call, somewhat in unison.  

 

Mase waves a goodbye from the ice and skates forward to sling an arm around Kallie’s slim shoulders as she returns to his side.

 

“Aren’t they calling it a day?” Tessa asks, as she shoves her socked feet back into her boots.

 

“Nah,” Scott replies, shaking his head.  “They’ll be here till Simon closes up for the evening” he says, referring to the janitor that’s been cleaning the rink for the last twenty-five years.  “They’re here every day before I get here, and half the time they’re still here when I leave.”

 

“I admire that kind of dedication,” she says, seriously, aware of the pride she can hear in his voice when he talks about the two kids who are currently laughing easily through what should be a fairly complicated lift.  “I understand it,” she says, thinking of the kind of inner drive that can push a person to greatness, but that also has the potential to destroy everything if allowed to spiral out of control. She feels a phantom burn in her shins and hopes that these kids have people around them who help them manage that drive, that passion, safely.  That being said, she hadn’t missed Scott’s instruction to them earlier to focus on mental prep and hydration, to rest their bodies between practices. She also hadn’t missed the brief conversation he’d had with Simon earlier in the day, the one where he’d encouraged the older man to cut out early. That little piece of information slots firmly into place now, and she smiles, inwardly, proud of the man, the coach, that he’s turned out to be.   _ These kids really can’t do any better than Scott Moir, _ she thinks.

 

“Me too,” he replies.  “That drive, that commitment, it’s what makes me want to help them go all the way.  They’re talented, for sure, but it’s their passion for the sport that makes me want to show up for them, you know?” he asks.

 

And she does know.  “Yeah,” she says, nodding.  “I see it in them. I really do.”

 

He tucks his skates into the duffel he’d carried in a few hours ago and stands, slinging it over his shoulder.  He smiles at her as he lifts Annika into his arms. It’s a thousand watt smile, he’s sure of it, and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it, because he’s known all along she’d see the same spark in his team that he sees.  He’s always known that Tess would understand, that she, above everyone else, would get it, get  _ him _ .

 

He holds out his hand to her and says, “Come on.  Let’s go home and cook some mediocre food for some great friends.”

 

She laughs then, and it’s a genuine, happy sound, and when she slips her hand into his this time, she doesn’t hesitate.

  
  


++++

  
  
  



	20. TWENTY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Just a general reminder that though Tessa did know Marie-France and Patrice from her and Scott's competitive years back before Sochi, in this universe there was never a comeback as things fell apart for Scott and Tessa in 2015 and Annika was born in early 2016, so Scott is definitely a little closer to MF and Patch now than Tessa is bc while he’s been part of their coaching staff for the last few years Tessa was in the US with Annika during that time. Anyway, I didn't write them *quite* as familiar with each other as I might have if I were writing them in a more "true to life" timeline of events, i.e. one in which the comeback happened.
> 
> And, as always, my eternal gratefulness to peacefulboo!

****

 

 

 

The doorbell rings at half past six, and Scott swings the front door open wide to reveal Marie-France and Patrice, sporting matching grins of approval.

 

“The house looks great, Scott!  It’s so different since the last time we were in town,” Patrice says, nodding in appreciation of the obvious work that’s been done in the interim.   

 

“It’s absolutely beautiful!” Marie agrees.  “I can’t wait to see what you’ve done inside.”

 

“It’s a little less _construction site_ , a little more _home_ now,” he laughs.  “I mean, it’s been awhile since you were here, so there’s definitely been some improvements, but it’s still not completely finished.  I’m working on it, though,” he says, smiling easily and stepping back to allow them inside.

 

“Who did the woodwork on the porch?  The detailing is impressive,” Patrice asks as he steps over the threshold, removing his coat while Scott steps forward to help Marie with hers.

 

“A guy my Dad went to highschool with is a contractor.  He specializes in period restoration, so he was able to replicate all the early twentieth century craftsman work.  Gorgeous isn’t it?” Scott asks, proudly.

 

“It really is,” Marie agrees, wrapping a hand around Patrice’s forearm as Scott motions them forward toward the kitchen.  He leads them over to the center island where he has a bottle of wine chilling and offers them both a drink. They each accept a glass of wine and the three of them make small talk, mostly regarding the kitchen remodel, the few definite decorating choices he’s made so far, and the ones he’s yet to tackle.  It only takes a few moments for Marie’s eyes to wander toward the door. “And where is the lady of the house?” she asks, casually, her thick accent landing pleasantly on his ears, warm and familiar.

 

“She should be down any second, we had a last minute wardrobe malfunction,” Scott explains, laughing.  “Annika was helping us cook and got a little enthusiastic with a whisk.”

 

“Ahh, I remember those days,” Marie replies, smiling.  “Our baby will be eight in a couple of months but it seems like just yesterday that she was tearing around the house like a tornado.”  

 

“How is Billie?” Scott asks, realizing that it’s a been awhile since he’s last seen their daughter.

 

“She’s such a little lady these days, I can’t believe how grown up.  We would have brought her with us if she wasn’t in school right now, but you would hardly recognize her, Scott, truly.  It is going by so fast,” she complains, good naturedly.

 

“What’s going by so fast?” Tessa asks from the doorway, announcing her arrival.  Both Marie-France and Patrice turn in unison to greet her. She’s a vision in a cream-colored, cable knit sweater, black pencil skirt, and boots.  Her hair is down, soft curls tumbling loosely over her shoulders and back. Annika sits on her hip in a kelly green sweater dress and matching tights, and Scott can’t help but notice how the color brings out the green in Annika’s hazel eyes.  Even more so than usual, in this moment their daughter is Tessa’s perfect mini.

 

“Tessa!  It is so good to see you!” Marie enthuses, stepping forward to give her a hug.

 

“It has been too long,” Patrice agrees, smiling a welcoming smile in her direction but hanging back, allowing his wife a moment to get reacquainted with their old friend.

 

“Billie Rose is growing up on them,” Scott says, in answer to her question.  “She’s going to be eight this year. Can you believe it?”

 

“No!” she says, and looks from Scott to Marie-France in shock.  “Eight? Is that right?” she asks, shifting Annika higher onto her hip when the little girl starts to fidget under the friendly scrutiny of their guests.

 

“It is.  I can’t believe it, but it is,” Marie says.  “Speaking of things I can’t believe…” she trails off, tilting her head in Annika’s direction.  

 

“I know,” Tessa says, dipping her head and chuffing out a half-amused, half-embarrassed laugh.  Her cheeks are stained a pretty pink when she makes eye contact with Marie again, and Scott moves around their guests to Tessa’s side on instinct.  He feels like he should be facing this moment with her, so he stands there next to her, facing Marie and Patch, their friends and one-time mentors.

 

“Scott contacted us to give us a heads up when the announcement came out in the news, but I still just can’t believe it,” Marie says, disbelievingly, but not unkindly.  She places her hand on Patrice’s upper back and rubs affectionately as she says, “We’re so happy for the both of you, though. You always had such a special connection. I’m not surprised it became something more,” she says, and her words are genuine and heartfelt.  “And this one,” she adds, reaching forward to lightly touch Annika’s nose with an index finger. “She is even more beautiful than I expected. The perfect blend of Mama and Papa, I think. And those pictures don’t do her justice,” she remarks, referring to the ones released by ET Canada.

 

Scott had spoken to Marie and Patrice right after the photos were released.  He’d known the likelihood of reaching them before the news did was slim, but he’d at least wanted to soften the blow of them finding out that way.  As he’d expected, they had, of course, already seen the photos, but he’d done his best to explain, without giving them _all_ of the details, what had happened between he and Tessa.  He’s not sure he did such a great job, but they have at least a basic understanding of what happened.  He’d talked with Tessa before he called them and made sure she was okay with them knowing the truth. He trusts them, and in the end, she’d trusted his judgement on how much to share with them.

 

Dinner with them turns out to be a loud, raucous affair with lots of laughter and catching up, wine and reminiscing--the way it can only be with old friends.  They talk about their final shared competitive season when they’d come in second to Marie and Patch at both Nationals and Skate Canada. That was the year they’d come in sixth at Worlds, just missing their chance to compete in their first Olympic games, while Marie and Patch had placed second and went on to compete in what would be their final games.  Of course, they had been forced to withdraw when Marie suffered an injury after a fall during their original dance. Marie smiles wanly at the memory, but then brightens when Patrice comments that after that Olympics, painful as it’d been, they’d finally been free to settle down--and it’s true, two years after the 2006 Olympics they’d been married, and a little over a year after that they’d been expecting Billie Rose.

 

“Life takes you to unexpected places sometimes,” Marie comments, then.  “You never know just how things will turn out.” There are murmurs of agreement all around, and the four of them briefly settle into a contemplative silence, which lasts only as long as it takes Annika to finish the last bite of her dinner.  

 

“Daddy, I done,” she says, smiling at Scott where he sits at the head of the table.  Patrice sits at the opposite end, and Tessa and Marie face each other across the space between them.  “I done, Daddy,” Annika reiterates, arching against the straps of her highchair, which has been pulled up to the corner of the table between Tessa and Scott.

 

“Hang on, Bean,” Tessa says, gently, reaching over to brush her daughter’s bangs away from her eyes.  “Daddy’s still eating.”

 

Annika looks over at Tessa and then back at Scott and grins, reaching for him.  Scott chuckles and rises from his chair, shaking his head as he unbuckles the straps that hold his daughter securely in her highchair.  “You are such a pushover,” Tessa murmurs, rolling her eyes in amused exasperation.

 

Scott manages to finish the last of his dinner with Annika on his lap, but only because Tessa moves the highchair out of the way and scoots her chair up close to his so that she can offer their daughter small bites of the chocolate cake they’d made for dessert as a distraction.  Somehow Tessa manages to make her slice of cake last until everyone else is finished with dessert, too, despite the fact that she’s sharing hers with Anna, who’s definitely inherited her mother’s love for chocolate.

 

After dinner they retire to the living room so that Anna can get down and play while the four adults continue to visit.  Both couples settle naturally at opposite ends of the large, L-shaped, sectional, Patrice at one end, his arm slung easily along the back of the couch, Marie tucked close against his side, and Scott at the other, his long legs stretched comfortably along the length of the wide, chaise lounge, Tessa right next to him.   They talk animatedly for over an hour about various and sundry things until eventually, the conversation turns to Scott’s team, how they’ve fared so far this season and what the plan is in the coming months.

 

This has been their first year as Juniors, and though they placed fourth in their one Grand Prix event, which he thinks is honestly quite good given that it’s their first season competing at this level, he can tell they’d wanted so badly to do more, go further--which is why he’s pretty positive they’re going to make some impressive strides over this next year.  He can see the fire in them, recognizes the drive and ambition that’s going to push them harder and farther than their competitors. You can’t will someone to have that type of internal fire, it’s simply there or it isn’t, and he knows deep in his bones that Kallie and Mase have it in them. Thankfully, Marie and Patch see it, too. _And Tess_ , he thinks, dropping a lazy hand onto her thigh and squeezing affectionately.  The move comes naturally, and he doesn’t really think about it, just allows it to happen.

 

She turns her head, surprised, and smiles in his direction as Patrice says, “They’re going to medal next season, I’m sure of it.  I’ve never seen two kids want it more!” Then, laughing, he adds, “Well, maybe you two, but it’s so rare to be that driven at that age, to want to be the best that badly.”

 

“I agree,” says, Marie-France.  “I can’t wait to see them skate tomorrow.  It’s been awhile since we’ve seen them in person, but all indications are that you’re making great strides with them, Scott.  We’re so pleased with their progress under your direction!” she gushes.

 

Scott’s cheeks are warm under Tessa’s gaze as she places her hand on top of his, where it still rests against the top of her thigh.  She gives him a look full of pride and adoration. It’s a look he hasn’t seen from her in years, and it makes him feel like he’s fifteen years old again--awkward and lovesick and so fucking lucky to even be in her presence.

 

Eventually, she angles her body back toward Marie-France and Patrice, becoming fully engrossed in a conversation about introducing their girls to each other, and by necessity his hand falls away, landing back in the small space between them on the couch.  For those few moments though, he’d felt an old, familiar connection with her--one that hadn’t been there for a long time, probably since well before Sochi. It was easy and uncomplicated, and it reminds him of the summer before they moved to Canton, when they were still just two kids who shared a big dream and a lot of memories between them.  The thought makes him feel warm and happy, and he settles back onto the chaise, content to let the conversation flow around him for the time being.

 

By the time the friendly chatter begins to wind down it’s late and Annika is passed out on Scott’s chest, her arms tucked beneath her body and her hair falling over her face.  Tessa has long since removed her boots and has her legs folded up on the couch, her toes, cold despite her tights and socks, tucked beneath Scott’s thigh for warmth. Marie-France lets out a jaw-popping yawn and then immediately apologizes profusely, blaming the long travel day, and Tessa reaches over and rubs a hand along Annika’s back saying, quietly, “It is getting pretty late, I should take her up to bed.”

 

“Do you want me to take her up?” Scott asks, starting to shift forward on the chaise.

 

“No,” Tessa stops him with a hand on his shoulder, untucking her toes from beneath his warm body and placing her feet on the floor.  “I’ve got her. You stay here and visit a little longer. I’ll be right back,” she promises, bending to scoop their daughter’s sleep-limp body from Scott’s chest.  She pauses as he presses a kiss to the top of Annika’s head before she lifts her and moves slowly toward the stairs, careful not to jostle her.

 

Tessa takes her time upstairs, moving slowly and quietly so as not to wake her sleeping baby.  Annika is warm against her, her cheeks pink and sleep-creased from lying against Scott’s dress shirt for the past hour.  Her heart squeezes in her chest at the memory of the picture they’d made. Several times throughout the night she’d caught Marie or Patrice looking at them softly, and it was only after some time had passed that she’d realized they hadn’t just been watching Scott and Annika with that look, they’d been eyeing the _three_ of them that way.  She wishes she could see them from their friends’ perspective--how they’d looked as a family from the outside looking in.  She wonders if it’d looked as right as it felt.

 

She settles Annika into her little canopy bed and gently removes her dress and tights to replace them with a pair of soft, footed pajamas.  Once her pj’s are zipped into place, Tessa tugs the Tinkerbell comforter up around her daughter’s shoulders, kisses her lightly on both of her pink cheeks, and steps quietly from the room.

 

By the time she makes it back downstairs it’s to find Marie and Patrice rising from the sofa, stretching, and beginning to say their goodbyes.  “You guys don’t have to leave yet,” Tessa insists, quietly, stepping into the living room.

 

“We really need to head back to the hotel,” Patrice insists.  “We have an early morning at the rink and then another long travel day back home to The Princess.  It’s been such a pleasure to see you both again though. Next time you’re in Montreal you must come stay at the house, we’d love to have all three of you.”  

 

Tessa wonders, not for the first time, what exactly Scott has told them about the current state of their relationship.  Choosing not to open that particular can of worms right this second though, she simply smiles and says, “That would be lovely, thank you so much for the invitation.  I really would love to see Billie Rose again and introduce her to Annika. I think they would get along so well.” And she means it. Visiting them in Montreal truly does sound like fun.

 

“Are you kidding, I wasn’t joking when I said Billie Rose will want to keep her,” Marie laughs, knowingly.  “Let’s make it happen--if not in the next couple of months, then after the New Year.”

 

“Absolutely,” Scott says, smiling in Tessa’s direction as he performs the duties of a proper host and escorts his guests into the hallway to collect their coats.  They exchange hugs and goodbyes in the vestibule until finally, Scott calls out a quiet, “See you all in the morning!” as he closes the door softly behind them.

 

“I’ve missed them,” Tessa says, softly, as Scott locks the door and arms the house alarm.  “I didn’t really realize how much until tonight, but I have.”

 

He smiles fondly at her as they head back into the kitchen.  “They are pretty great aren’t they?” he asks. “They were really there for me when I needed them,” he admits, his voice suddenly serious.  “That whole first year after you were gone, especially,” he says, though there is no blame evident in his voice, just honesty. “I wasn’t skating anymore and you weren’t here--I didn’t really fully understand what had happened between us, and I just…” he trails off, struggling to find the words he’s looking for.  “I was so aimless then, but they still believed I had potential as a coach, and they took a chance on me and gave me this team that they really believed in. I’ll never not be grateful to them for that.”

 

Tessa tugs up the sleeves of her sweater as they enter the kitchen, seeming uncertain how to respond to his sudden shift in mood.  She begins to move stacks of dishes, silently, from the table to the countertop. Scott turns on the sink and waits for the water to get hot.  As he stands there with his fingers beneath the tap, he watches her move quietly about his kitchen, looking perfectly at home there. He almost can’t reconcile where they’d been three years ago with where they are right now.

 

Thinking about that period of time after Sochi, when they’d been estranged, always makes him think about Tessa’s pregnancy.  As much as it pains him that he wasn’t there for it, the idea of it fascinates him nonetheless. And as difficult as that time was for him, he knows it must have been infinitely harder for her.  A sudden thought occurs to him, and he shuts off the tap and turns to face her, fully. “When we were talking that day at your apartment…” he starts, waiting for her to meet his eyes before continuing.  “You said that when you found out you were pregnant you felt like you’d let everyone down--us, your parents, Canada. Do you really feel that way?”

 

She pauses, mid-step, a handful of silverware in each hand and a bottle of vinaigrette tucked under one arm.  She looks startled, and he supposes the question is sort of out of the blue, but it’s something he’s wondered about ever since she said it, and somehow this quiet, domestic moment seems like the right time to ask.

 

Her mouth opens and closes several times with no actual sound falling from her lips, but then finally, after a deep breath, she manages, “Honestly?  Sometimes,” she admits, her eyes staying focused on his.

 

“T, _why_ ?” he asks.  He doesn’t feel that way at all.  This is _her_ life--his and hers and Annika’s, and no one else’s.  He’s grateful to so many people for the support he and Tess had received throughout their amatuer careers, but they don’t owe anyone _this_.  He hates that she feels responsible to anyone other than herself and Annika--even him.

 

“ _Why_ ?” she asks, as if she’s shocked he even needs to ask.  “We were _Canada’s Sweethearts_ , Scott,” she says, moving forward to the counter and emptying her hands of the cutlery she’d been holding in order to make air quotes around the title.  “And there was all this pressure, but also so much potential, and we were just--we were reckless with it,” she finishes, looking down at her feet, disappointment audible in her voice even now, all these years later.

 

“Tess, it was _our_ life to live,” he insists, reaching out to still the restless, twisting movement of her fingers with a touch of his hand to the back of hers.

 

“You’re right, it was,” she agrees, her eyes coming up to meet his.  “But there were a lot of people on that journey with us and we--Jesus, Scott, we didn’t even use a condom that night.  We didn’t even try to--we were so stupid,” she breathes, disbelief coloring her words. Her eyes are dry but her voice trembles slightly as if, even now, she can’t believe that in their mid-twenties they could’ve still been so irresponsible.

 

“Hey,” he says, wrapping his hand lightly around her forearm and tugging her against his chest. “No name calling,” he chides, gently.  He takes a deep breath, doing his best to steady them both. “And you weren’t stupid or reckless, T, you were on birth control--I knew that.”  She’d been on the pill since she was fourteen, to regulate her cycle and make it more manageable for training and competition, he knew that. As he says the words, though, it occurs to him that he still doesn’t know exactly how that form of contraception had managed to fail them so spectacularly.  She’d been religious with those pills, he knew--Tessa was nothing if not strict with her routines back then, and she’d swallowed down that tiny pill every morning, along with a handful of vitamins and supplements, washed it down with her post-workout smoothie.

 

“Yeah, and I’d also just spent the two days before throwing those pills up,” she says, bringing him a sudden sense of clarity on how exactly their daughter had been conceived, despite Tessa’s religious use of birth control.  “I could have insisted on a condom that night, just to be safe. I just didn’t think--” she begins.

 

“Neither did I,” he says, cutting her off, defending her against herself.  “Do you think _I_ let everyone down?  Do you blame _me_?” he asks, rhetorically--he knows her well enough to know that she doesn’t.

 

“No,” she says, insistently, and it’s true, she really doesn’t blame him.

 

“Well, then, you can’t blame yourself either,” he says, his voice full of resolve.  She tucks her head against his shoulder, remaining stubbornly silent.

 

He’s still in his dress shoes, while her feet are bare save for her tights and socks, and it’s giving him an added height advantage that he’s finding he quite enjoys.  The apple of her cheek is pressed against his collar bone, her breath fanning against his neck, and he slips his fingers into her loose curls and cups her jaw just below her opposite cheek, tilting her head back and looking down to meet her eyes once again.  “Besides, given the outcome, would you really change anything?” he asks, seriously.

 

“No,” she says, equally serious, thinking of the beautiful little girl sleeping soundly upstairs in her soft, footed pajamas.  For the first time, a sense of peace washes over her. Maybe she could forgive herself for not living up to everyone’s expectations of her--for not getting it exactly right.  “I mean, I’d want you to be there with me,” she clarifies. “If I could change that part, I would. But no,” she confirms, resolutely. “I wouldn’t change what happened between us, or what we got in exchange for it.”

 

“Me either,” he whispers, and he finds that he can’t look away from the deep green of her eyes.  She’s staring up at him, into him, and she seems to be searching for something, so he lets her look, and he hopes that she can see all that he feels for her because he’s afraid it’s still too soon to say any of it out loud.  

 

The moment stretches on and on, vibrating with tension like a suspension bridge whose cables, creaking and taut, hold fast despite the tumultuous waters below.

 

He doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath, that he is, until a shuddery exhale slips from her parted lips, involuntarily, hitting him in the chin and drowning him in the humid scent of wine and chocolate cake and _Tessa_.  

 

He loses it then, despite his best efforts, his own breath spilling out of him in a rush of air that sounds suspiciously like a moan.  The sound is cut off abruptly as his lips settle firmly against hers. He tilts his head, uses the slightest pressure of his thumb against her jaw to tilt hers, too, until he gets the angle just right.  He keeps his lips soft but the pressure he’s exerting against her firm, and when he feels her lips move tentatively against his in reply, the bottom drops out of his world in the best possible way.

 

It almost feels like their first _real_ kiss.  The night they’d slept together had been so emotionally fraught, so dreamlike and frantic, but this is deliberate.  They are standing together in his kitchen, fully awake, _doing_ this.  Her body is pliant under his hands, and after weeks of building toward this moment he can’t decide where he wants to touch her the most--his hands are everywhere, glancing over her hair, smoothing along her shoulders, sliding down over the sharp jut of her hip bones and slipping around to rest lightly on the perfect curve of her ass.

 

Her mouth falls open under his when his hands settle there and he can’t help licking into her, his tongue seeking the flavor and feel of her.  It’s her turn to moan against him, then, and he feels the vibration of the sound against his teeth and his tongue--it shoots directly south and has him half hard against her with next to no effort on her part.  Seriously, her just being here in his arms, letting him kiss her like this, that’s all it takes. He could probably come just from this, he thinks, if given just a little while longer.

 

She shifts against him then, rising up onto the balls of her feet, the fingers of both hands slipping into his hair.  She’s standing between his legs, her socked feet tucked between his own. Arms lifted, as they are, her slight weight rests against him, fully, from hips to shoulders, her soft breasts pressing into his chest, her pounding heart keeping perfect time with his.  She gives as good as she gets, sliding her tongue along his own and wrestling for control of the kiss. He lets her have it, content to follow her wherever she might lead him. He’s already so blissed out by just this _,_ he’s not even sure how he’s still standing.

 

His hands slide back up to her hips, resting there lightly, though his palms itch to tug up the hem of her loose sweater and inch his hands beneath the soft, heavy material until his fingers come into contact with warm, bare skin.  Tessa seems to be following his line of thought; Scott feels the fingers of her right hand slip down the nape of his neck and dip, searchingly, into the loose collar of his dress shirt. The pads of her fingers knead soothingly against his skin, but when he feels the slight drag of her nails trace his spine from shoulders to hairline he can’t help the way his hands grip her hips tightly, tugging her against him.  

 

Simultaneously, and almost immediately, they both pull back from the kiss, sensing the dangerous drop off just ahead.  The wet _pop_ of their lips separating echoes in the air between them, accompanied only by the sound of their ragged breaths.

 

_Too much_ , they seem to mutually agree.

 

Her hands slip down out of his hair, one falling to rest on his shoulder while the other stays curled around the back of his neck.  He can still feel the tips of her nails resting lightly against his skin, and he has no doubt she can feel him, now almost fully aroused, pressing low against her belly.

 

They stand there, heads bowed, foreheads touching, breathing in each other’s exhaled breaths, until eventually he dips his chin forward just enough to press a light kiss to the bridge of her nose and then one to the smoothe skin just below her left eye.  Her lashes flutter under his lips and he smiles against her skin at the slight tickle. He lifts his face from hers then, pulling back just enough to check in.

 

She smiles, shyly, her world slightly rocked by the intensity of Scott’s kiss, and says, softly, shakily, “I mean, if you didn’t want to help me clean up the kitchen…”

 

He barks out a surprised laugh, her levity totally unexpected.  She laughs then, too, and it’s a light, happy sound, bubbling out of her in an unrestrained fashion he hasn’t heard in a long time.   _Too long_ , he thinks.

 

Her laughter fades away slowly, and she steps back a little, allowing both of her hands to slip from his shoulders and a sliver of space to open up between them.  “You should probably get to bed,” she chides, gently, choosing not to directly address what had just transpired between them. “You have to be up early, Marie and Patch will be expecting you at the rink.”

 

He nods, hating the space between them immediately, but knowing it’s probably for the best.  He steps further away from her, reluctantly, reaching for the sponge on the back of the sink.

 

“You go on up,” she says, stepping forward to swipe the damp sponge from his hand.  “I’ll finish up down here.”

 

“You trying to get rid of me?” he asks, eyes squinting at her, playfully, even as a small knot of apprehension begins to form low in his belly in response to her sudden eagerness for his departure.

 

“No,” she says, forcing a laugh.  “No, I just--I know you need to sleep, and I know I’m not going to be able to for awhile, so…” she trails off, blushing and rolling her eyes at herself, self-deprecatingly.  You’d think she’s still fourteen years old, riding alone with him in his beat up old truck for the first time.

 

He smiles then, understanding visible in his eyes.  “What makes you think _I’m_ going to be able to sleep after that?” he laughs.

 

She scoffs, “Twenty years of knowing you?”  The man has always been able to fall asleep at the drop of a hat, regardless of life’s various stressors, while she’s spent her life tossing and turning, restlessly, in beds on nearly every continent.  It really isn’t fair. She’s just never been a good sleeper, and that little interlude between them has certainly done nothing to settle her down for the night.

 

“Fair enough,” he acquiesces, unable to deny the truth of her words.  He’s not sure even he will be able to fall asleep after that kiss though.  He doesn’t point that out, however, instead choosing to give her the space she’s looking for.  She seems alright, not nearly as unsettled by their kiss as he’d feared she might be. Still, he checks in one more time, just to be sure.  “You’re okay?” he asks, his index finger reaching out to snag hers, affectionately.

 

“I’m okay,” she promises, twisting her fingers around so she can squeeze his hand, reassuringly.  “Go on,” she nods. “Go get some sleep.”

 

Seeming to accept her offer to clean up the kitchen at face value, or at the very least understanding her need for a quiet moment to herself, Scott finally says goodnight and leaves her alone with her thoughts, stepping forward to brush a quick, undemanding kiss across her cheek as he leaves the room.  “Night, Tess,” he says, softly. “I’ll check on Anna on my way to bed. If you two aren’t up when I leave, I’ll see you when I get home, okay?”

 

“Okay.  G’night, Scott,” she replies as she watches him disappear toward the front of the house.  When she hears his feet on the stairs, she drops her head into her hands, dramatically. She groans, pressing her cheeks into her open palms.  Living together just got a lot more complicated, because for the first time she knows for sure that she wants a life with Scott--and it has nothing to do with Annika and being Annika’s mom--and that is a revelation she wasn’t prepared for.  

 

As Annika’s Mom she’s needed to figure out where their family stands, if she can count on Scott to be here for them, if they can forge some kind of life together--as Tessa, she hasn’t really allowed herself to want anything, to need anything.  Maybe that’s because she hasn’t been just _Tessa_ , an entity entirely separate from _Annika’s Mom,_ in so long that she barely remembers what Tessa, what _she_ , wants in life, what she needs to feel whole and happy, but she’s remembering now.  Scott is making her remember, and she’s startled to realized that what she wants is _this_ life--the one where Scott is a brilliant coach, and they take their daughter to visit Marie and Patch in Montreal, and she runs her clothing line from a little home office in Ilderton.  Tonight that life feels real, tangible, and just within her reach.

 

For the past few weeks, this has all seemed so terrifying, taking a chance on Scott, on this life, but suddenly everything has shifted, everything has flipped upside down.  She’s seeing everything from the opposite side, like Alice through the looking glass--and the flip side of the coin is a life without him.

 

Suddenly a life with Scott, truly _with_ him, sounds much less scary to _have_ and infinitely more scary to _miss_.

 


	21. TWENTY-ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long pause--I was waiting for inspiration to come back to me. I think I'm up and running again now.
> 
> As always, special thanks to peacefulboo! <3

 

****  
  


 

 

 

Tessa sits bolt upright in bed, heart pounding.  Annika’s cries echo across the hall and into her room.  They’re the type of piercing wails that have waves of nausea rippling deep in her stomach and beads of cold sweat breaking out on her upper lip--it’s the type of cry that means something is seriously wrong.

 

Before she can even blink herself fully awake, she is stumbling toward the door.  She meets Scott in the hallway, and he is looking as panicked as she feels. “What’s going on?” he asks, his voice still rough with sleep.

 

“I don’t know,” she replies, moving past him into Annika’s room, never even slowing down on her path to her daughter.  When she reaches the small, canopied bed in the center of the room she sinks to her knees at Anna’s bedside. Her little girl is sitting up in bed, sobbing uncontrollably.  Tessa can just make out her outline, and she reaches for her automatically. “Hey,” she coos, comfortingly. “You’re okay. Mama’s here,” she says, softly running her hands along Anna’s little body, searching for signs of physical trauma.  “What’s wrong, baby?” she asks her. Then to Scott, she says, “Can you turn on the light?”

 

He doesn’t answer, simply turns and clicks on the bedside lamp.

 

Soft light floods the room and they are greeted with the wrenching sight of their daughter, tears streaming down her cheeks, clutching her Tinkerbell bedspread tightly in one hand and covering her right ear with her other.  Tessa reaches out to gently remove her hand from her ear, and that only serves to make her cry harder, her wails bordering on hysterical.

 

“Oh, my God!” Tessa gasps, touching Anna’s bare skin for the first time.  “Scott she’s on fire,” she explains, sounding slightly panicked. She presses her lips to Annika’s forehead before looking back at him, her eyes wide and scared.  “I mean, she’s _really_ burning up.”

 

Scott kneels beside her and places his open palm against his daughter’s brow.  He sucks air in between his teeth, creating a hissing sound in response to the level of heat he finds there.  “Okay, um, what do we do? What do you need me to do?” he asks, already rising to his feet.

 

Annika rises to her feet clumsily, her bare feet tangled in the bedclothes, and reaches for Tessa.  Her eyes are glassy and slightly unfocused and Tessa folds her against her body immediately, her eyes closing for a brief moment as she struggles not to panic.  She’s been through teething and the occasional cold or stomach virus with her child, but never anything that induced anywhere near this level of gut-churning fear.  Tessa tries to stay calm. “You’re okay, I’ve got you,” she soothes her baby, rubbing a shaking hand up and down her tiny back. To Scott she says, “In my bathroom medicine cabinet there’s a thermometer and some Infants’ Tylenol.  Can you grab them and bring them to me?” He’s already nodding and heading for the door when she adds, “I’m going to take her into my room.”

 

It takes Scott a moment to find the items he’s looking for, and by the time he retrieves them and makes it back to Tessa’s room he finds her sitting on the side of her bed, rocking their daughter and speaking to her in low tones despite her unceasing cries.  Dim, yellow light spills into Tessa’s room from the open bathroom door, illuminating them. Annika is sitting on Tessa’s lap, head against her chest and legs on either side of her hips. Her arms are wrapped so tightly around Tessa’s neck he thinks it’s a wonder Tess isn’t having trouble breathing.  

 

“Here,” he says, thrusting the thermometer and medicine towards her.

 

She reaches out and takes the thermometer but ignores the Tylenol, saying, “Can you read on the bottle and see what the dose is for her?  She weighs about twenty-seven pounds now. There should be a little chart on the label.”

 

While Scott fumbles with the small medicine bottle Tessa sets about taking Annika’s temperature.  It’s an ear thermometer, so Tessa moves Anna’s hair to one side and places the tip gently into the ear that she isn’t currently clutching with her tiny hand.

 

Scott has just managed to fill the medicine dropper that came with the Infants’ Tylenol full of runny, pink-red liquid when he hears an electronic _beep_ and Tessa’s troubled gasp.  “What is it?” he asks, scared to hear the answer.

 

Tessa turns the display toward him, allowing him to read the digital display for himself.  

 

_39.8℃_

 

His heart drops.  “What do we do?” he asks her, his voice slightly hoarse.

 

“Here,” she says, holding out her hand for the dropper.  “Let’s give her the Tylenol first and then we can go from there.”  She takes the medicine and turns back to Annika. “Here baby,” she offers.  “Let’s take some medicine, okay? It’ll make you feel better.” She tries to lean back to where she can see Anna’s face, but her daughter only clings to her, crying harder.  “Scott, can you help me? Maybe, can you just tilt her back away from me a little so I can see her face?”

 

Scott steps forward and attempts to lift Anna away from Tessa’s chest just a little bit but she clings with all the tenacity of a baby koala.  It breaks his heart, but he tugs her back until the contact is almost completely broken and Tessa can get a good look at her face.

 

It takes several minutes of cajoling, and a few drops of the Tylenol are lost as they drip from the corners of their daughter’s open mouth as she continues to cry forlornly, but eventually they succeed in getting her to swallow the majority of the fever-reducer.  Annika’s hands have maintained contact with Tessa’s face, resting stubbornly against her cheeks, throughout the process, but as soon as she’s ingested the medicine, she throws herself forward, her arms clutching tightly around Tessa’s neck once again.

 

Tessa looks up at him, her eyes shining over-brightly in a way that sends fear zipping straight down his spine.  “What do you need?” he asks, willing to do anything short of severing a limb in order to soothe his baby girl’s--and her mother’s--pain.  

 

“I don’t kn--” her voice catches, and Scott watches her struggle to finish her sentence.  “I don’t know. She’s never been sick like this,” she says, looking about as helpless as he feels.

 

Scratch that.  He would _actually_ sever his own limb right this second if it would help the situation in the slightest.

 

“Can you hand me my phone?” Tessa asks, and he retrieves it from her nightstand and hands it to her, wringing his hands, unsure what else he can do to help at this point.  He watches Tessa thumb through her contacts and press the phone to her ear, waiting several beats before saying, shakily, “Mom, it’s Tess. Anna’s sick, and I don’t know what to do--if I should take her to the emergency room or...can you just call me back when you get this, please?”  She hangs up and lets the phone drop uselessly to her side. “Shit,” she whispers, and her voice has a telltale quiver to it that has him springing forward to grab her phone. “What are you doing?” she asks, confused.

 

“You can’t get ahold of your mom, right?  So, I’m calling mine,” he says, smiling tightly and reaching out to cup her cheek comfortingly.  “She’s raised a few kids, too, ya know? Moir boys at that--we’ve probably put her through every kind of illness there is at some point.”  He unlocks Tessa’s phone and scrolls down through her contacts. His thumbprint might not unlock the device anymore, but her passcode hasn’t changed in years.  He finds his mom’s name there at the top of a lengthy list of Moirs and hits _call_.

 

Alma picks up on the third ring.  “Tess?” she says, her voice full of concern and the groggy adrenaline-fueled wakefulness that comes with being ripped from a sound sleep.  

 

“No, Mom, it’s me,” he says, breathing a sigh of relief.  He’d known she’d pick up, but still, hearing her voice sends a wave of relief crashing over him.  “Annika’s sick, Mom, and T and I aren’t sure what to do. Should we take her to the emergency room?”

 

“What’s wrong with her, honey?” she asks, sounding very alert now.  

 

“I don’t know, she just woke up crying.  She was holding her ear and she has a fever.  It’s high, Mom--thirty-nine-point-eight. Her little body’s just on fire,” he adds, and even he can hear the panicked edge to his voice.

 

“That is high, but you can probably get it to come down some.  Does Tessa have any Motrin or Tylenol?” she asks. “I have some here, I think.  I can bring it and be there in about fifteen minutes.”

 

“No, no, you don’t have to to that,” he assures, though a part of him really wants his mom to be here with them right now.  “Tess gave her some baby Tylenol already. We just don’t know if we should take her in or…” he trails off, his eyes falling on Tessa’s face.  Her cheek is pressed against Annika’s and she’s humming softly to her and though Annika is still crying her sobs have ratcheted down a decibel or two in volume.  As he watches a harsh tremor wracks his daughter’s body and Tessa’s arms tighten around her in response. Tessa’s eyes seek out his own, waiting to hear what’s happening on the other end of the line.

 

“You need to try to get the fever down,” Alma is saying.  “Try putting her in a lukewarm bath-- _not_ cold or cool, Scott, lukewarm.  You don’t want to make her shiver, that’ll just increase her internal temperature.”

 

“She’s shivering right now!” he says, his panic rising.  

 

“It’s okay, son,” Alma soothes, level-headedly.  “I can hear her crying. As long as she’s awake and responsive and breathing normally, try this.  If the bath and the Tylenol don’t get her fever down, then go ahead and take her in,” she advises.  “If she was holding onto her ear she might have an ear infection. You were prone to them at her age.  You’re probably going to want to take her to her pediatrician in the morning anyway just to be sure, but in the meantime try not to get any water in her ears while you have her in the bath.”

 

His side of the conversation is mostly comprised of varying versions of _okay_ as he listens to his mother’s advice.

 

“Give me an update in a little bit and let me know if it works or if you’re going to have to take her in, alright?” his mom requests.

 

“Okay,” he says, a final time.

 

“I love you, Scotty--and Tessa and that sweet baby, too,” Alma reminds him, lovingly.

 

“We love you, too, Mom.  Thanks,” he says and then disconnects the call.  Meeting Tessa’s questioning gaze, he says, “Mom said we need to put her in a lukewarm bath, but not to let her get cold because shivering is bad, and also that we need to keep her ears out of the water because she might have an ear infection.”

 

“Okay,” Tessa breathes, already standing and heading into the small bathroom attached to her room.  “Can you turn on the water and set it to just slightly above body temperature?” she asks, perching on the closed lid of the toilet and shifting Annika forward on her lap.  

 

He closes up the stopper and runs the water in the bathtub while she sets about removing their daughter’s pajamas and her pull-up.  Once Annika is fully naked Scott can see how flushed her entire body is. His heart beats a little faster in his chest and he prays that this works.  “Okay,” he says, once the water is midway up the side of the tub. “The water’s ready.”

 

Tessa steps forward and kneels down to place Anna in the water and their child lets loose a noise he’s never heard before in his entire life.  It’s a sound somewhere between a scream and a howl--regardless of the distinction, she is clearly not having any part of a bath.

 

“Anna,” Tessa soothes.  “You have to get in the bath, baby.  I’m sorry, but you have to. It’s going to make you feel better,” she promises.  Scott watches her gently remove Annika’s arms from around her neck and fit her hands under her armpits, attempting to lift her over the side of the tub and into the water, but Annika curls her fists into Tessa’s long hair and wraps her legs around her waist, refusing to be separated from her mother under any circumstance.  

 

“No!  N-no!” Annika screams into Tessa’s chest.  Her face is bright red and slicked with tears and snot, and Scott thinks he might cry soon, too, if they don’t figure something out.  

 

“Okay, okay,” Tessa says, shushing her.

 

“Mama,” Annika sobs, brokenly, her voice hitching and giving the word several more syllables than usual.

 

“Okay, look Bean,” Tessa says, standing with Annika still wrapped tightly around her body.  “What if Mama gets in with you?” she asks, stepping gracefully over the side of the tub and standing in the tepid bath water.  Annika continues to cry, but doesn’t fight or protest as Tessa lowers them both toward the surface of the water. Seeming to accept this as a passively sign of acceptance, Tessa sinks into the bath water, still fully clothed in the shorts and tank top she’d worn to bed.

 

Scott scrambles to get two washcloths and two towels from the shelf behind the door and then kneels at the side of the tub, handing one of the washcloths to Tessa.  Without further discussion they set about wringing washcloths full of water onto their daughter’s febrile body over and over again. She shifts around uncomfortably the first few times but then settles against Tessa, sighing in exhaustion and allowing them to continue without further protest.  

 

Scott isn’t sure if that’s a good or bad sign.

 

They stay like this for the next little while, Tessa’s head bent low over Annika’s shoulder, whispering in her ear how much Mama and Daddy love her and how they want her to feel so much better, as she presses gentle kisses to her cheek, while Scott continues to wring water over her scalp and back, repeatedly, trying not to get Tess any wetter than necessary.  Eventually, he gives up trying to spare her. The ends of her hair hang down past her shoulders, clinging wetly to her upper arms, and her tank top is a lost cause despite the fact that she’s only submerged from the waist down.

 

After about ten minutes in the water Scott sees Annika start to shiver, so he says, “I think it’s time to get out.  The water’s getting too cold.” Tessa nods, and he reaches forward, fitting his hands along her ribcage, just under her arms, and steadies her as she rises from the bath, arms still full of their daughter.

 

Where before Annika had been inconsolable and borderline hysterical, now she’s practically limp in Tessa’s arms.  Deciding to test his luck, Scott grabs the towels he’d retrieved before and unfolds one over his daughter’s shoulders.  It’s large and fluffy and it swallows her whole body easily as he lifts her from Tessa’s arms and wraps her up, cradling her against his chest as if she were still a tiny baby.  Only her head and feet poke out of the ends of the towel and his heart swells to bursting as he looks down at her beautiful, flushed face. He bends his head forward and presses his lips to her forehead and though it still feels hot it seems to have lost some of the terrifying fire he’d felt there before.  He feels himself sag with relief.

 

Tessa must see the look on his face because she says, “Did it work?”  Her voice is small and worried, and Scott’s attention is immediately drawn back to her.  She’s standing there in the bathtub, her clothes dripping wet, arms tucked tightly to her body, attempting to ward off the sudden chill brought on by exiting the bath.

 

“T,” he breathes, his attention now split equally between his daughter and the woman he loves.  “Come on,” he says, shifting Annika into one strong arm and offering Tess his free hand. “I think it worked,” he finally answers her as he steadies her while she steps out onto the bathmat.  He hands her the other towel. “Why don’t you get dried off and then you can take her temperature again? I’ll sit with her,” he assures her, confident now that Annika isn’t going to protest being out of Tessa’s embrace for a few moments.

 

“Okay,” she says, already toweling the wet ends of her hair.  As he watches, his eyes raking up the long line of her shapely legs, over the flat plane of her abdomen, lingering briefly on the unmistakable swell of her breasts and the hard points of her nipples which are clearly visible through the thin, cotton material of her tank top, he sees a chill hit her and send gooseflesh scattering over her arms and legs.  

 

“I’ll get you some dry clothes,” he says, and tears his eyes away, because _seriously, now is not the time_ _to be noticing how beautiful her body is_.  Annika whimpers in his arms as he leaves the bathroom, and he touches his lips to her forehead again, whispering, “It’s okay, Bean.  Daddy’s got you.” She whines again, but closes her eyes and rests her head against his bicep without further comment. Back in Tessa’s room he rifles quickly through her drawers, looking for something warm.  He finds a pair of cotton sweats with long cuffs at the ankles and pairs them with a soft thermal top in the same shade of cream. He hesitates at her open underwear drawer, staring at the array of colorful silk and lace.  He’s trying to decide which is less daunting, touching one of these tiny scraps of lace and then knowing that she’s wearing them, or bypassing the drawer altogether and knowing that she’s _not_.  He bites the bullet and snags a pair off the top.  Pink with a pale gray chevron pattern--God help him, he will never look at chevron the same way again.

 

He turns and finds her stepping into the open doorway.  “Here you go,” he says, stepping forward and thrusting the dry clothes into her hands, the scrappy little thong resting jauntily on top of the pile.  

 

Her eyes meet his, and she smiles, her cheeks going slightly pink.  “Thank you,” she says.

 

“No problem,” he replies.  “Go ahead and get dressed and I’ll go get her in some dry clothes and meet you back in here in a few, ‘kay?”

 

She nods, stepping forward and running her hand along Annika’s forehead.  She seems to relax a little as she registers the slightly cooler temperature there.  Scott can smell hints of her strawberries and cream shampoo drifting up from her damp locks as she tilts her head to press a kiss to the curve of Anna’s pink cheek.

 

He cups her elbow, drawing her attention back to him.  “Get into some warm clothes, T. I’ve got her.”

 

Sighing, she steps back and allows him to take Anna into her room to get her re-dressed.

 

He spends several agonizing minutes toweling Annika’s hair dry, gently wrestling her into a clean pull-up, and tucking her tiny feet into a pair of light purple, footed pajamas.  Once the pajamas are zipped up tight he lifts her back into his arms, settling her against his shoulder and sighing as she tucks her nose into the space _just there_ the one that makes him feel like a real _Dad_.

 

By the time he makes it back to Tessa’s room several minutes later, she’s fully dressed in the clothes he’d picked out for her, and stands waiting for him with the thermometer in her hand.  “She hardly fought me at all on the pajamas,” he says, quietly, again not sure if their daughter’s sudden silence is a good or bad thing. “I think she’s just worn herself out,” he guesses, hopefully.

 

Tessa steps forward and places a gentle hand on Annika’s back, resting the one with the thermometer on Scott’s shoulder.  “Hey, sweet girl,” she whispers. “Mama’s gonna take your temperature again, okay?” she asks. When Anna simply looks up at her with wide, pitiful eyes, Tessa makes a tortured face in response and looks at Scott, seeking commiseration.  

 

He nods, encouragingly.  “You’ve got this, Tess. Go ahead.  She’s okay.”

 

This time when the thermometer emits its electronic beep it is followed by her soft sigh of relief.  Tessa turns the display so Scott can see it, too.

 

38.8℃

 

Not ideal, but exponentially better.

 

“We should see if we can get her to drink something,” Tessa says, standing close, smoothing her hand back and forth over Annika’s shoulder blades.

 

“Here,” he says, shifting Annika toward her.  “You take her and get into bed, and I’ll go get her some water--or juice, which is better?” he asks, unsure.  

 

She receives Annika’s weight easily, their little girl melting perfectly into her mother’s arms once again.  “There’s some grape Pedialyte in the pantry in the kitchen. It’s in a clear, plastic bottle. Can you just put some of that in her sippy cup?”

 

“I’ll be right back,” he says, nodding and heading for the door.

 

He’s only gone for a handful of minutes, but by the time he gets back, he finds them curled together in Tessa’s bed, looking comfortable and beautiful and completely wiped out.  Annika is in the middle of the queen-sized bed, and Tessa lays facing her, Annika safely ensconced between her and the wall that the big bed is pushed up against.

 

He kneels at the side of the bed and hands Tessa the tiny, plastic cup over her shoulder.  He watches as she smiles, tenderly--it’s the purple one with the little giraffes on it, Anna’s favorite.  It’d been in the dishwasher, but he’d made it a point to find this one, specifically.

 

“Bean,” Tessa whispers.  “Daddy brought you something yummy to drink in your favorite cup,” she says, clearly acknowledging his effort.  “Can you take a drink for Daddy?”

 

“Anka ‘raffes,” Annika confirms, leaning forward obediently, and taking a long drink.  Her voice is raspy from crying, but it’s lovely to hear nonetheless.

 

“You’re such a big girl, Bean,” Tessa praises, as Annika takes a few more small sips of the grape-flavored electrolyte water.  She stops drinking abruptly and holds her cup out to Scott, yawning widely.

 

“You finished?” he asks, eyebrows raised.  “You’re sure you don’t want anymore?” She shakes her head _no_ , and he smiles, lovingly, down at her.  “Okay, I’m going to put this right here, and you can just tell Mama if you want some more, okay?” he asks, standing and setting the sippy cup on Tessa’s bedside table.  He watches as she yawns again and nods in reply, settling her head against Tessa’s breast and allowing her eyes to drift closed. Scott leans forward over Tessa, bracing himself with one hand on the bed and one on her hip.  He presses a gentle kiss to the apple of Annika’s cheek and then pulls back slowly, hesitating. He hovers there in the air over Tessa’s shoulder, uncertain, but as soon she lifts her eyes to his, as soon as he takes in those vast green pools, full of relief and fatigue and something very akin to love, his uncertainty fades, and he presses his lips to hers.

 

It’s nothing like their kiss from a couple of nights ago in the kitchen, and nothing like the many they’d shared the night Anna was conceived.  It’s just a firm press of his lips against hers. It’s mingled breaths and counted heartbeats, it’s solemn and comforting--it’s _we did it, kiddo_ in the form of a kiss.  Because they _had_ done it.  They’d survived this terrifying experience with their child _together_ , and he finds that there is something very real and binding in that.

 

He palms her forehead and cups her chin, takes a deep breath in, inhaling the smell of her, of them, before slowly pulling away.  This time when he stands, though, she reaches for his hand. He doesn’t want to leave them, he wants to stay right here. She must see it in him, because despite the tiny bit of hesitation he can see lurking in the very edges of her expression, she eases herself closer to Annika and lifts the covers, exposing her back and inviting him, silently, to stay.

 

And so he does--his big spoon to her little one, her little spoon to Anna’s baby one--and together they sleep.

 

****

 

They wake two more times in the night, once to the sound of plaintive cries for more pedialyte and once to fitful whimpers that require a quick diaper change and another dose of Tylenol.  In the morning, Tessa wakes feeling overheated but strangely rested despite the rough night. Annika’s asleep against her chest, her cheeks still overly-rosy, and her body acting as a tiny furnace against Tessa’s torso.  Scott is pressed against her back, her cheek pillowed on his bicep and his opposite arm slung low across her hip so that his hand can rest reassuringly against Anna’s back. It’s no wonder her body feels like she’s been sleeping on the sun--between these two, she probably has a core body temperature well above her established normal.

 

She reaches behind her, over her right shoulder, pressing a hand to Scott’s cheek, the early-morning stubble along his jaw scraping deliciously against her open palm.  “Scott,” she murmurs, quietly, trying not to wake Anna. “Scott,” she says again, slightly louder, when he doesn’t seem to be responding. “Scott,” she sing-songs, lifting her leg slightly and dragging her foot along the outside of his calf.

 

He takes a deep, startled breath then, and she feels his hand drop away from Annika’s back and come to rest flat against her belly.  He stretches awake, squeezing her tightly and _oh_ \--so, maybe he’d been responding more than she’d realized.  Although, it _is_ morning so, there’s always that possibility.  At any rate, she doesn’t have time to overthink it because he’s suddenly shifting away from her and rolling onto his back, clearing his throat and saying, “G’morning.  How’s she doing?”

 

“Good, I think,” she says, shifting onto her back as well and looking over at him.  “I was thinking. You should probably call your mom. She’s an early riser, and she’ll be worried about Anna.”

 

He nods, and if he’s uncomfortable with his current _situation_ he’s doing a great job of hiding it.  “What about your mom? Did she ever call you back?” he asks, sounding slightly concerned.

 

Her heart turns over in her chest a little at his concern for her mother’s well-being.  “I text her last night that we’d gotten ahold of Alma and that I’d let her know today what was going on.”

 

“You think we should take her to the doctor?” he asks, lifting his head to get a look at their baby girl who is still sleeping peacefully curled into Tessa’s side.

 

“I think so.  She still has a fever, though I can’t tell how high until I get up and take her temperature again, but I think she probably needs an antibiotic for her ear.  She’s still been tugging at it off and on through the night,” she frets, taking Anna’s sleep-limp hand in her own and tracing the tiny, pink fingernails she finds there with the tips of her fingers.

 

“Did you manage to get _any_ sleep?” he asks, concern once again slipping into his voice, this time for her.

 

“Not a lot,” she confesses, but then adds, honestly, “But I feel surprisingly rested despite the lack of sleep.”  She sighs. “We should get up though, and try to get her in as early as possible. I don’t want her to suffer any longer than necessary.”

 

Scott is out of bed like a shot at those words, already tossing her her cell phone and saying, “You give her doctor a call, and I’ll go grab a quick shower, and then I’ll watch her while you shower.”

 

“Her doctor is in Toronto,” she sighs.  “I’m going to have to call around and find an office that will see her on such short notice.  If we have to we can take her to the emergency room, but I’d really rather not.”

 

“Okay, how about this?” he says, moving back toward the bed.  “What if you go take a shower, and I’ll stay with Anna, and while you’re doing that I’ll give Sheri a call and see if she can get us in to see our family’s pediatrician?  All the Moir kids see the same one, I think.”

 

She wilts with relief.  “That would be so great, if she could get us in.  I’d really prefer not to take Annika to someone we don’t know.  I’m sure it’d be fine, but I’ll feel so much better if she’s seeing the same doctor as your cousins’ kids.”  She rolls out of the bed, careful to avoid waking her sleeping child. She pauses on her way to the bathroom, and stops to hug him, briefly, on impulse.  “Thank you,” she says, quietly, relishing the way his arms come up and wrap around her so easily. They fit together, just like they always have. She pulls away sooner than she’d like because now really isn’t the time, but she sends a soft smile over her shoulder as she heads for the shower, and he returns it, wholeheartedly.

 

****

 

By the time they hear back from Sheri that she’s managed to secured them an appointment with the family pediatrician, they are both showered and ready to go, so they are literally in the doctor’s waiting room by nine AM.  Annika is still cranky and clingy this morning, but nothing near the nuclear meltdown level from the night before, thank God. Tessa and Scott are forced to pass her back and forth and walk laps around the brightly colored waiting room while they wait for their turn because every time they try to sit down with her she begins to get fussy again.  Moving seems to keep her mostly distracted from the pain in her ear. They have to take turns filling out her vital records sheet, Tessa reading over his shoulder and filling in any gaps he doesn’t know. There aren’t many.

 

Scott goes suddenly quiet somewhere between filling out that thick clipboard of paperwork and clicking the exam room door shut behind them.  Tessa thinks the exhaustion from the night before is finally hitting him. That, or he has a newfound fear of doctors that he’s never shared with her before.

 

The visit itself is surprisingly brief.  Dr. Barrett is professional and kind and makes Anna laugh despite how awful she’s feeling.  Tessa immediately adores her.

 

It turns out that Annika’s ear infection is most likely viral, so no antibiotics necessary at this point, just Tylenol for pain, and plenty of rest, hydration and love--all of which they are already giving her.  Unfortunately, the virus will just have to run its course, but Dr. Barrett does give them her card and tells them to call immediately day or night if Anna’s fever spikes again and they aren’t able to get it under control or if she’s not feeling better within two to three days.  As they exit the office, Tessa feels like a boulder-sized weight has been lifted from her shoulders.

 

She closes the passenger door of her RDX and reaches for her seatbelt, pausing when she sees the look on Scott’s face.  He looks panicked all of a sudden, and she doesn’t understand what’s happened. They’d gotten pretty good news from the doctor, she thinks, so she isn’t sure what has him so rattled.  “Scott, what’s the matter?”

 

“Annika was a Valentine’s Day baby,” he says, and it’s not a question.  Tessa wracks her brain for a moment, trying to figure out the significance of his assertion.  Then it hits her. He hadn’t known. In all the many conversations they’ve had since he’d come back into their lives she doesn’t know how their daughter’s exact birth date hadn’t come up, but it hadn’t.  “Scott,” she says, softly.

 

“The CBC interview is _tomorrow_ , Tess!” he cries, frantically.

 

“So?” she says, drawing out the word, struggling to follow his train of thought.  “Scott, you’ve known this was coming, I don’t love the idea of it any more than you do, but I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal _now_?”

 

“Because Tess,” he sighs.  “We’re confirming the existence of our child to the country, to the _world_ , tomorrow--and I just realized that I didn’t even know when her fucking birthday was.”  “Tessa,” he says, using her full name, which causes her to brace herself for whatever is about to come next.  “Half an hour ago, I realized for the first time that my daughter is American.”

 

Tessa snaps backward in her seat as if he’d just slapped her.  “And that _matters_ to you?” she asks in disbelief, shock and hurt blooming in her chest and forcing hot tears into her eyes.

 

“NO!” he all but yells, reaching out and cupping both of her cheeks in the palms of his hands.  He checks the rearview mirror, making sure he hadn’t startled Annika. She watches him with wide eyes, but seems generally unconcerned, so he turns his attention back to Tessa.  “No, of course not. And I mean, I _knew_ she was born in New York--we talked about it, I just didn’t...it didn’t _click_ , I guess.”  He sighs, heavily, before continuing.  “Tess, you could have given birth to Annika on another planet and it wouldn’t matter to me, you know that.  I love her so much because of who she is, because she’s _ours_.”

 

“Then, I don’t understand what…” she trails off, blinking back the tears that are still threatening to fall.  

 

“Of course, it doesn’t matter to me that she’s American...it matters to me that I didn’t _know_.”

 

 _Oh_.

 

“And if I didn’t know something as basic as that about her, or what her birth date is, what’s going to happen tomorrow when they ask me something else I don’t know?” he asks, his expression pained.  “Something that a father, a father who’s been there, should know about his own child?” He turns his head away from her and looks out the windshield. He’s quiet for several seconds before he reaches forward and fires up the ignition.  “What do you think Canada will think if they realize I wasn’t there for the first two years of our daughter’s life?” he asks, miserably. “I don’t want that on you and my family...I don’t want that on her,” he whispers, quietly.

 

 _Well, fuck_ , she thinks.

  
  
  



	22. TWENTY-TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to Peacefulboo for keeping me on track!
> 
> Also, Scott Russell appears in this chapter as a special request from RaquelEspi one thousand years ago. :D

++++

 

Scott glances over at Tessa as she presses her fingertips into her temples and kneads in a circular motion, groaning quietly.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to run back to the house and pack an overnight bag for her?  You know my mom would be more than happy to keep her overnight, and then we could just stay in Toronto and not have to drive back here after the interview?” Scott asks, eyeing Tessa from his place in the driver’s seat of her RDX before moving his eyes back to the road in front of them.

 

“No,” Tessa sighs, dropping her hand from where she’d just begun pinching the bridge of her nose.  “It’s fine. It’s not a full-blown migraine,” she says, rolling her head from side to side, stretching her neck and wincing as several audible pops occur as a result of the movement.  “I know your mom would be fine keeping her, it’s not that,” she assures at his doubtful expression. “It’s just...she’s never spent the night away from me. That night with you, before we moved in, was the first time we tried it, and you know how that turned out--and she was with  _ you _ .  I just doubt she’d make it through the night without being upset.  It makes more sense to just come back to Ilderton after the interview.”  She glances over her shoulder to check on Annika, who is only half awake at this ungodly hour of the morning, but has still somehow managed to remove both of her shoes, nonetheless.  Tessa watches her daughter chat sleepily with her reflection in the rear window. “ _ I’ve _ never spent the night away from  _ her _ ,” she says, looking back at Scott now, offering him another piece of their daughter and a little piece of herself as well.  “Even the night you came to my apartment to talk about her and us and everything that happened, and Jordan watched her?” She waits for him to acknowledge that he remembers the night she’s referring to.  At his nod, she continues. “I ended up going to Jo’s after you left,” she confesses. “I was just worried she’d wake up and need me, and I wouldn’t be there. I know I’ll have to let it happen at some point.”  She settles back in her seat, closing her eyes. “I just haven’t worked up to it yet.”

 

“Hey,” he says, gently, and she opens her eyes and rolls her head to the side until she’s facing him.  “I’m fine with whatever you want to do.” He reaches over and squeezes her hand. “And thanks,” he adds, smiling softly.

 

Yesterday’s realization at the doctor’s office had been a tough one for Scott, despite Tessa’s almost immediate clarification that Annika actually has dual citizenship, and is not, in fact, “American”.  He’s still struggling with all of the things he’s missed, all of the things he feels like he should know and doesn’t. Yesterday, even though Tessa had tried her best to express her support and willingness to hear any concerns or fears he was struggling with in regard to Annika, he’d shut down every attempt she’d made to offer him comfort.  Eventually she’d switched to just offering up random bits of trivia regarding their daughter. 

 

He’d remained silent, when she mentioned Anna’s affinity for strawberry flavored Timbits, and he hadn’t reacted at all when she’d told him about her absolute abhorrence of elevators (she cries from the second the doors close until the second they reopen), but by the time she’d told him about their daughter’s ability to sing along to every “baby” in the entirety of You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling with almost perfect timing he’d smiled and then laughed in response, and she’d known he was going to be okay.  

 

“You’re welcome,” she replies, nodding and turning her head back toward the window, watching the still-dark landscape roll by.  

 

The drive to Alma’s is fairly short, and she meets them at the front door, eager to get her hands on her grandbaby.  Scott hands Annika over to his mom, and she goes to her Nana without much fuss, a fact for which Scott and Tessa both feel an inordinate amount of relief.  

 

“She’ll probably fall back to sleep around ten and sleep until eleven-thirty, maybe even twelve, since we got her up so early today,” Scott tells Alma, while stepping behind Tessa to tuck Annika’s tiny shoes down inside the white backpack she’s carrying.

 

Once he’s refastened the zipper, Tessa shrugs the backpack off of her shoulder and passes it to Alma saying, “Her cup’s in there, and a change of clothes and some pajamas just in case she starts feeling bad again.  Her medicine’s in the side pocket.” She pauses, looking to Scott for help.  _ What am I forgetting?  _ her look seems to ask.

 

“Pedialyte,” he reminds her.

 

“Right,” she says,turning back to Alma.  “There’s some pedialyte in there, too, and if she’ll drink one of those then you can give her milk or juice or whatever after that.  I,” she pauses again before continuing. “I think that’s it,” she concludes, taking a deep breath.

 

Alma sits through all of this patiently having been through the first-time drop off with each of her other grandkids.  “We’ll be fine, won’t we Annika?” she asks her granddaughter. “We’re going to go make Papa some pancakes for breakfast.  Do you want to help me do that?”

 

“Papa cancakes?”  Annika asks, clearly intrigued.

 

“Imagine that,” Scott says, chucking good-naturedly.  “A Moir winning over a Virtue with food.”

 

Tessa smiles at that despite her headache.  “Well, technically, she’s only half Virtue, so she has a fifty-fifty shot at not being a complete loss in the kitchen; however, she definitely inherited my love for food, so odds are good Nana just won her over for at least the next hour or so.”

 

Scott grins at that.  “I like those odds,” he says.  “I think her Moir half is going to love Mom’s pancakes as much as the rest of us, and she’s liable to be in a food coma through nap time at least.”

 

“Do you guys have time to stay for a bite?” Alma asks, already stepping back inside.  “I can have some pancakes ready in fifteen minutes or less,” she offers.

 

“Thanks, Mom,” Scott says.  “But we really need to get on the road.  We have an early shoot and we still have to sit through hair and make-up once we get to the studio.”

 

“Okay,” she concedes, her tone sounding slightly put out.  “You guys drive safely though, okay? You’re still my babies, no matter how old you are, and those maniacs in Toronto drive like they don’t have a bit of sense.”

 

Tessa steps forward and presses a kiss to Anna’s cheek, saying, “I love you, Bean.  Be good for Nana, okay?”

 

Annika smiles and looks at Alma before patting the older woman’s chest approvingly.  Alma beams at the simple gesture.

 

“Daddy loves you, Toepick,” Scott says, leaning down and dropping a kiss onto the top of Annika’s head.  “Mama and I will be back in little while, okay?” he asks her, his tone endearingly serious.

 

“Okay, Daddy,” she enunciates carefully and surprisingly clearly.

 

Tessa and Scott share a look at that.

 

They hug Alma goodbye, and the older woman takes that as her cue and disappears quickly into the house with their little girl, leaving the two of them standing alone on the front porch.  They can hear Anna’s eager chatter disappearing down the hall, and Tessa laughs, saying, “Wow, your mom really is an expert at the whole Grandma thing, eh?” 

 

“She really is,” Scott agrees as they turn to make their way back to Tessa’s SUV.  He slips back into the driver’s seat and immediately turns on her seat warmer and tilts her seat halfway back before she even has the passenger door open.

 

“It’s a long drive, Scott,” she protests, when she sees what he’s done to her seat.  “You know I’ll fall asleep if I’m all reclined like this.”

 

“Mmhmm,” he agrees.  “I do know that. I also know you’re feeling shitty, so just lie back, close your eyes, and try to get a little more sleep before we get there,” he directs, gently.  “I know the way,” he promises, when she continues to look torn. “It’ll be fine, Tess.”

 

“I know it will,” she sighs.  “Thank you,” she adds, gratefully, as she sinks into the passenger seat.  Her head  _ is _ throbbing.  “You’re the best,” she mumbles, already slouching over against the window.

 

Then, with one final adjustment--Scott shrugs off the sweater he’s wearing over his t-shirt and folds it into a loose ball before reaching over and tucking it between her head and the cold glass of the window--they’re off.

 

Tessa manages to nap most of the way, which Scott knows means she feels awful because she never sleeps soundly in the car.  Cat naps, yes. Full-on unconsciousness, no. Despite her objections, this is likely more than a migraine, he realizes, though by the time they reach the studio, her professionalism is disguising about ninety-nine percent of her discomfort.  The days of watching her smile through the pain in her calves taught him how to read her tells well though, and he can see the subtle signs of discomfort in the way her smile goes just a bit too wide and her skin is just a shade more pale than normal.  No one else will see it, he’s sure, but he does.

 

He stays with her through hair and make-up, commandeering a chair immediately next to hers and handing out looks that brook no argument when anyone dares to suggest he relocate to somewhere further than arm’s reach from Tessa.  He makes sure she has coffee and a banana.

 

“You need to eat.  Maybe the food and caffeine will help,” he insists when she tries to say she doesn’t want anything.  “Just have a little,” he coaxes. “Then you can switch to water, and I won’t harp on you anymore about it, I promise.”

 

She acquiesces.  Mainly because she feels like he and Annika are playing  _ pots-n-pans _ inside her skull, but also because she knows he’s right.  She really wants to take her migraine medicine, but it makes her sleepy, and she can’t afford to take it before the interview.  Coffee and a banana it is. She glares at him while she chews until she realizes the scowl is making her head hurt worse.

 

++++

 

CBC’s Scott Russell sits across from Tessa and Scott looking professional and dapper as always.  He smiles a kind, familiar smile and opens the interview by saying, “Well, it’s been a few years since we last spoke, and obviously life has gone on and changed for the two of you.  So, catch us up. What’s been happening in the lives of Canada’s Sweethearts, Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir?”

 

“So much!  So much has happened over the past few years,” Scott replies, warmly.  “Obviously, we aren’t skating competitively anymore. I’ve set my sights on coaching as a profession, and Tess has a successful clothing line under her mother’s maiden name, McCormick,” he says, gesturing in Tessa’s direction, unconsciously steering the conversation toward her.

 

“That’s exciting!  Why the departure from your given name, Tessa?” Scott Russell asks, interestedly.

 

“It is!” Tessa agrees, excited to talk about her clothing line despite her headache and general nervousness regarding this interview.  They’d discussed with each other and with both Scott Russell and the network beforehand that they wanted this to be more of a general catch up or  _ Where Are They Now _ type of interview than a direct response to the leaking of those photos of Annika.  She’s just hoping for the best at this point but she knows it’s a total crapshoot. “I think that I wanted to succeed or fail on my own, without the world watching.  I needed some time to just be Tess without all of the spotlight.”

 

“And for good reason, it seems, because you had a child since leaving competitive skating, correct?  The two of you, in fact, have a child together, right?”

 

“We do,” she says.  “Scott and I have a beautiful daughter, Annika, who is the absolute love of our lives.”

 

The older man smiles, genuinely.  “I feel like on behalf of Canada I should say thank you!” he laughs, gently teasing them.  “And congratulations, of course. How old is she?”

 

“She’s two-and-a-half,” Tessa says, not offering up any further details, lest someone deduce where Scott was, or more importantly where he  _ wasn’t _ , on the exact date of her birth.

 

“Are the two of you hiding any other secrets?  A wedding, perhaps?”

 

“No, no,” Scott chuckles, good naturedly.  “I still haven’t managed to coax a yes out of her yet,” he jokes and feels Tessa stiffen beside him.  Afraid he’s said the wrong thing like so many times before, he grasps for something else to say and comes up with nothing.

 

Tessa sees him floundering but she’s struck momentarily dumb by his comment.  There’s a beat of silence before Scott Russell, seasoned news correspondent, fills it in with aplomb.

 

“So you mean to say you’re together, but not in a rush to get married?” he asks, making the innocent assumption that all of Canada is likely to make as well.

 

Tessa finds her voice then.  “In all honesty, we’re both so focused on our daughter and on our careers right now that our personal lives have sort of taken a back seat,” she interjects smoothly, answering the question while not  _ really _ answering it at all.   _ Some things are just like riding a bike _ , she thinks, wryly.  If all of her years with Scott taught her nothing else, they taught her how to give an award-worthy non-answer.

 

“Of course,” he concedes, commiseratingly.  “I can only imagine what a whirlwind these last few years have been.  How is parenthood treating you?” he asks, thankfully not pressing her for any more details.

 

“It’s so great,” Scott says, smiling widely and scooting forward to the edge of his seat, excitedly,  as he chimes back in. He doesn’t need any help on this topic. “Annika is the best! She’s smart and fun and makes every day so exciting to look forward to.  I don’t even know what I did before she came into my life,” he says, genuinely.

 

Tessa finds herself watching him talk, fascinated by his obvious infatuation with and love for their daughter.  “Tessa?” she hears their interviewer prompt, and she tears her eyes away from Scott’s face.

 

She clears her throat.  “It’s the same for me. Watching her grow and learn has been the best experience of my life.  And, like Scott said, I can hardly remember what life was like before her.” It’s true, she really can’t.

 

“Well, I can help you out with that.  I’ll tell you what it was like--you two won three Olympic medals apiece and took this country by storm!  Any thoughts about coming back to competition? I mean, you must miss it,” he fishes, appearing to possess a genuine interest in them and their future plans.

 

Tessa shifts in her seat, crossing one leg over the other and clasping her hands together, balancing them atop the point of her knee.  “I think we’ll always miss it, but I think the days of intense training and striving to be the absolute best in the world are behind us.  It’s time for us to just focus on the rest of our lives,” she says, looking over at Scott once again. “And also to focus on the best way we can give back to our sport,” she adds, trying not to stammer at the look of open adoration on Scott’s face.   _ For fuck’s sake _ , she thinks to herself.  Everyone is going to think they’re together, which they’ve agreed to not discuss one way or the other because if they say they are then people will accuse them of lying all of the years they said they weren’t, and if they say they aren’t then people will accuse them of lying now--either way, they’ll be bombarded with more unwanted attention.  In the end, they’ve decided to just acknowledge Annika, say what they’re doing now and that they don’t plan to return to competitive skating and let people believe whatever they like. In theory, that had been a fabulous plan, but with him looking at her like that, knowing how it will be interpreted, she can just imagine tomorrow’s headlines.

 

Tessa remembers, all too well, what it feels like to read every day about her Epic Love Story with her lifelong skating partner and bff, when in fact no such happily-ever-after, fairytale version of their life together has ever existed.  She doesn’t relish living through that particular brand of hell again. She tries to steer the conversation safely back toward their business endeavors.

 

“Scott coaches, and he’s brilliant at it, and I set aside a portion of the profits from my business to provide scholarships for athletes who have to travel away from home to train like Scott and I did--to help with living expenses and travel assistance.”  She makes a conscious effort to relax her shoulders. “Scott and I were lucky to have families that were able to facilitate those things for us until we were old enough to secure sponsors for ourselves, but there are a lot of talented young skaters out there who aren’t as fortunate as we were in that regard.”

 

Scott stares at her in awe.  He’d had no idea. He’s caught off guard, but not really surprised.  It’s exactly the kind of thing he’d expect from Tess.

 

“That’s amazing!  You two must be so proud of each other and your accomplishments.”

 

“We are,” they say in unison and then laugh at themselves, some of Tessa’s tension melting away as her eyes connect with Scott’s once again.  The reprieve is short lived though, as his nervous energy, as usual, begins to have an inverse effect on her, causing her to become more guarded as he claps his hands nervously like a symbol-playing monkey, which is usually a precursor to some inadvertent over-share.

 

In real life, his honest nature is an admirable quality.  In public life, it’s an unfortunate (for them) character trait.  She just prays they make it through the rest of the interview without any mishaps.

 

“I’m so proud of Tess--getting her business up and running and giving back to our sport the way she does, all while raising our daughter.  She makes it all look easy,” he praises.

 

She tries once again to steer the interview away from them and their family and safely into Work Territory, but finds that she’s unable to stop herself from gushing just a little about the amazing Dad that Scott is.  He deserves that much from her. “Scott’s an amazing coach--he has an ice dance team right now that has so much raw talent. I can’t wait to see what they do under his guidance. And he’s the  _ best _ Dad, the absolute best.  Watching him with our daughter is just--” she presses a hand to her chest, just over her heart, and blinks, no adequate word springing to mind.

 

Her expression must speak volumes though because the seasoned news veteran currently interviewing them says,”You two!  I’m so happy you’re where you are in life! I always knew there’d be amazing things in your future.” It is not lost on Tessa (or the millions of fans that tune in for the interview) that he said  _ future _ , singular--as in a single, shared future.  “Scott, tell us about your team. What are their names?”

 

“Kallie Bakas and Mase Radley.  They’re novice level right now, but they are going to do great things--mark my words!” Scott says, his eyes lighting up, proudly.

 

“I have no doubt they will with you as their coach,” Scott Russell enthuses.

 

The interview veers away from their personal life for awhile as they discuss Scott’s coaching and Tessa’s clothing line.  Just as she thinks they’ve managed to make it through the interview unscathed though, she hears the question that she’s been dreading.

 

“So, guys, I have to ask.  There was so much speculation about the nature of your relationship back when you were skating competitively…  So much of Canada, of the world, seemed so sure about the two of you, so, why the secrecy? When your relationship changed, which it obviously did at some point, why not tell the world?  Was it just a case of wanting to have that one aspect of your lives kept private or…?”

 

_ Yes, that and the fact that the moment things “changed” we didn’t speak for three years _ , she answers, silently.

 

“There was a bit of that, I think,” she says, trying to choose her words carefully despite the marching band currently parading between her temples.  “And also, there were points where we truly didn’t  _ know _ what we were to each other, to be honest.  I mean, we’re such a part of each other’s lives on a fundamental level that trying to explain or define what we are to each other is difficult even for us, let alone trying to define it or explain it in a way that someone else will truly understand.  And that put pressure and expectation on something that meant so much to us.”

 

Scott nods his agreement.  “We’ve always just been  _ Tessa and Scott, _ whatever that meant at any given time,” he says.  “It’s been different at different points, obviously, but I don’t think anything really ever  _ changed _ .  There was always something there between us.”

 

_ And there’s the soundbite _ , Tessa thinks.  Interview over. You’re welcome, CBC.

 

The second they call cut she dry swallows two of her migraine pills.  She’s asleep as soon as they get in the car.


	23. TWENTY-THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this chapter was whipped into shape by the lovely Peacefulboo <3

 

 

 

 

++++

  
  
  


It’s late evening by the time they leave Toronto, and Tessa is wiped out.  He can tell by the way she doesn’t utter so much as a word of protest when he slips back into the driver’s seat (their deal had been that he would drive to Toronto and she would drive home), and she doesn’t balk when he once again hands her his sweater to use as a pillow.

 

“Wake me when we get to your Mom’s,” is all she says.

 

He takes the four-oh-one, and it doesn’t occur to him until somewhere on the other side of Cambridge that those are the first and last words she’s spoken to him since the interview.  With an uneasy feeling settling deep in his gut, he heads for home. If she has something to say to him, he’d rather they discuss whatever it is  _ before _ they pick up their daughter.

 

When they pull up to the house he puts the car in park and kills the engine, waiting for the lack of  inertia to wake her up. When she fails to stir he reaches out and touches her shoulder, softly. “Tess,” he says.  “Wake up. We’re home.”

 

She opens her eyes and blinks at him, momentarily confused.  Then she seems to gather herself and turns to look into the back seat.  “Where’s Annika?” she asks, sounding sleepy but concerned.

 

“I’m going to go get her,” he assures her, quietly.  “But I wanted to bring you home first. I know you’re not feeling well, but there’s something else bothering you, isn’t there?” he asks, trying to gauge her mood.

 

She sits upright then and hands him his sweater back.  “It’s nothing,” she mumbles, opening the passenger door and stepping out into the dark driveway.

 

“It’s obviously  _ something _ ,” he argues, as he catches up to her on the front porch.  He watches her dig roughly through her purse, presumably in search of her house key.  He’s content to let her take a bit of her frustration out on the innocent clutch, but when he sees a violent shiver run through her, he steps forward and unlocks the heavy bolt lock.  When she remains silent, merely stepping inside and beginning to remove her shoes, he pushes, “Is this about the interview? Because I thought it went pretty well, considering.”

 

She stops moving suddenly, and he watches her posture change. She turns to face him.  “Considering what?” she asks, hands coming up in a questioning motion. “Scott, you basically just called us both liars on national television.”

 

He knew that’s what was bothering her.  The whole way home he’d thought and thought about it, and despite his playful allusion to a possible engagement at some nebulous point in the future,  _ those _ seven words are the ones he’d kept coming back to.

 

_ There was always something there between us _ .

 

“What I said wasn’t a lie, Tess.  For me, it wasn’t,” he says, honestly, but she’s not in the mood to hear it.

 

“That’s my point, Scott.  If there was _ always something between us _ ,” she air quotes.  “Then that makes us both liars.  Every time we said it wasn’t like that between us or we were just business partners--people are going to interpret that as a lie.”

 

That leaves him a little affronted on both their behalfs.  “We never said we were  _ just _ anything,” he argues.  “We  _ were _ business partners and friends, best friends.  Those things aren’t lies, but maybe I shouldn’t have spoken for you,” he says, backtracking a little, suddenly unsure.  “I mean, maybe you didn’t--” he falters, and she cuts him off.

 

“Of course, I did,” she sighs, looking pained.  “Of course, I did. I’ve  _ told _ you I did.  I just...didn’t know I did or was in denial, maybe, but…” she trails off, sighing again.  He can see her internal struggle. Admitting there was  _ always _ something between them means that every time they’d denied it, every time they’d called it by another name, they’d been lying, whether they’d ever meant to or not--at least that’s how people will see it.  Despite her emotional turmoil, though, he can’t help the little bubble of happiness that wells up inside of him when he ponders her words just now. She had admitted once before that she’d loved him back then.  She’d told him so that night in her apartment when they had The Talk. Hearing it again now, though, he can’t quite let it go without reveling in it just a little bit first.

 

“Stop smiling like that,” she commands, clearly irritated.  “You’re always  _ doing _ that,” she huffs, marching into the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of water out of the refrigerator.  

 

“What?” he asks, trailing behind her, still smiling but trying hard to dampen the expression.

 

“Emoting,” she grumps.  “All over the place.” She takes a sip of her water and climbs onto one of the high-top barstools situated on the back side of the island.  She props her elbows up on the countertop and drops her chin into her hands, grumpily.

 

“I’m sorry, T,” he apologizes, clearly trying hard to smother a laugh.  It’s really  _ not _ funny.  He knows she doesn’t feel good, but she’s rattled.  He can tell. What he said rattled her, even though he knows she knows how he feels.  He’s made his current feelings pretty evident, he thinks. This can’t all be about potential blowback from fans and the media.  They’ve known that was likely all along.

 

“It’s not funny, Scott,” she says, quietly, annoyed that he’s not taking her more seriously.  She’s seething, at this point, she realizes, but the level of anger she’s experiencing is irrational, and she knows it.  She needs to de-escalate the situation before it turns into something much bigger and uglier than it needs to be.  _ We don’t do this _ , she reminds herself.  “Look, maybe I should just go pick up Anna and head to Mom’s tonight,” she suggests.  They’re all supposed to be heading up to the cottage in a couple of days so Scott can spend a little time getting reacquainted with her family.  Perhaps that will go more smoothly if she and Scott have some time apart before then?

 

Her words draw him up short.  She sees the change in him immediately and tries to backtrack over what exactly she’s just said, how he’d most likely perceived it, and how exactly they’ve even gotten to this point.  Her head is pounding though, and all she can think is that she feels like shit, and she’s so damn angry with Scott for wearing his heart on his sleeve and blabbing his mouth in the interview without thinking just like he’s always done.

 

“So, you’re just gonna storm out of here in the middle of the night?” he asks, his tone clearly implying what an idiotic plan he finds that to be.  “Our daughter’s not a toy you can just pack up and take home when you’re mad, Tessa,” he says, his voice low and deadly serious.

 

_ That _ makes her furious.  How dare he question her parenting when she’d been in this alone for  _ years _ before he decided to grace their lives with his presence again?  

 

That last bit is unfair, and she knows it, so she bites her tongue and just says, “I would  _ never _ use her as a pawn in a fight between us.  Never. But maybe a couple of days apart would--”

 

“When has time apart ever done you and I a damn bit of good?” he asks, and she can hear the anger in his tone but she can also hear the hurt.  “Look, I shouldn’t have said what I did. It wasn’t fair to come at you like that,” he says, holding out a placating hand. “I’m just still feeling guilty about all the time we’ve already lost.  I know this whole situation is something that we did to ourselves but it’s also something that happened to us, and it fucking sucks, T. It really does. And any threat to my time with you guys now just...pushes my buttons,” he finishes on a harsh exhale.  He stops and runs his hands through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “I’m just angry,” he says, dismissively. “And I feel guilty, and I’m angry  _ because _ I feel guilty.”  He drops his hands to his sides and shakes his head, letting his eyes, brimming with sincerity, bore into hers, as he says, “And I’m sorry.  More than anything else I’m just sorry.” He bows his head, momentarily, and then meets her eyes once more, adding, “For then and for now.”

 

She deflates immediately, all of her anger evaporating like steam into thin air.

 

“No, I’m sorry,” she says, covering her face with both hands, embarrassed for behaving the way she has tonight.  “I’m being completely irrational. I’m just...I’m on edge because I don’t feel good, and today was really stressful, and I just want to close my eyes and sleep for a week.  Honestly, I feel like death,” she confesses, pitifully, peeking through the spaces between her fingers, before letting her hands fall away from her face completely. “It’s more that than anything else,” she assures him.  “It’s not you, and I’m sorry for being a jerk about the interview.” She reaches out her socked foot and nudges him, tentatively, with her toes. “Forgive me?”

 

He narrows his eyes as if considering, as if he’s ever had any choice about forgiveness when it comes to her, and then he smiles.  “Always,” he says, coming close enough to press his lips to the top of her head in apology and as a sign of his forgiveness. Then, frowning, he pulls away and moves his hands to her cheeks.  By the startled look on her face he thinks, for a moment, she thinks he’s about to kiss her. Instead he presses his closed lips against her forehead. “Tess,” he hisses, surprised and concerned.  “You’re burning up, babe.” The endearment falls quietly from his lips, unintended and completely unnoticed by him. He watches an indefinable look pass over her features as she brings a hand up to her own forehead.  “Why didn’t you say something?” he says, frustrated with himself for fighting with her when she’s not only feeling poorly but is actually really sick. 

 

“I don’t  _ feel _ hot,” she mumbles.  “I took some migraine medicine.  I’m sure I’ll be fine in the morning.”

 

He takes her hand, gently, removing it from her forehead and holding it flat between his own palms.  “You don’t feel hot because your hands are burning up, too. I’m going to call my mom. I think Annika should probably just stay there for the night, don’t you think?”

 

“No,” Tessa protests.  “Scott, I won’t be able to sleep.  I’ll be worried about her.”

 

“Tess, I know you’re worried about leaving her anywhere overnight, but she’s just now feeling better.  If you’ve caught her virus, do you really want to risk giving it back to her?” he tries to reason with her.

 

“No,” she whispers, eyes shining, suspiciously.  His heart breaks a little. God help him if she ever realizes what her tears do to him.  “I’m probably not contagious anymore, though, if I’m already feeling so terrible,” she tries weakly.

 

“Well, according to that logic, I’ve been exposed to both of you, and I’m not feeling sick, so I could be contagious right now,” he reasons.  “I might be sick as a dog by tomorrow.” He prays that’s not the case. He hates being sick. It’s almost as terrible as being injured--only less so because illness typically has a quicker recovery time than injury.  

 

She sits quietly at the island, picking a cuticle raw with nervous intensity.  He knows her well enough to know her stomach is already starting to churn with anxiety at the thought of going to sleep without their daughter under the same roof as them.  He also knows she needs rest though, and he knows that deep down she trusts his mom with their daughter as much as he does.

 

He sighs.  “Let me just call Mom and see how the day’s gone so far.  Last time I talked to her, before we left the city, things were going fine.”

 

“What if you go stay there with her?” she negotiates.  “That way she won’t be scared.” He looks at her, pale and drawn, and visibly wilting before his eyes.

 

“Tess, I’m not leaving you here alone,” he says, with finality in his tone.  “You’re sick, and you have what I’m guessing is a pretty substantial fever. Besides, if I  _ am _ contagious and going to end up sick, myself, by tomorrow, then me going over there tonight completely defeats the purpose of having her stay at Mom and Dad’s.  Let me just call my mom. If Anna’s already asleep can we please agree to just let her stay there?” She doesn’t answer but he can see her wavering. “What if I promise to go get her if she wakes up and needs us during the night?” he tries.  “It’s a ten minute drive, T, and I  _ will _ go get her if she needs me to, I promise.”

 

At this, she finally relents, and he calls his mom quickly, before she can change her mind.

 

Less than a minute later he hangs up the phone and looks at her.  “She’s been down for about forty minutes. Mom said they had a great day, and our girl’s completely worn out.”  He squeezes her shoulder. “She’s fine,” he promises, eyeing her carefully, hoping she doesn’t change her mind and send him to get her after all, but knowing that if she does he’ll do exactly as she wishes in the end.

 

Finally, she nods her acceptance and squeezes his forearm, gratefully.  He relaxes. “Thank you,” she says, smiling weakly.

 

He nods in acknowledgement before saying, “Why don’t you go up and take a bath and try to relax, and I’ll figure out something for a late dinner.  Does anything sound edible?”

 

She shudders, visibly, at the mention of food.  “Nothing for me, thanks, but I think I will take your advice on the bath.  Maybe I’ll come out the other side resembling something more like a human being,” she offers, apologetically, obviously still feeling bad about their fight.  

 

He pulls her into his arms and hugs her when she stands up from the barstool.  “Don’t sweat it, kiddo,” he whispers. “Just go relax and try to feel better,” he says.  “And take some Tylenol while you’re up there. Do you have any?” he asks as an afterthought.  Now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t remember seeing any in her medicine cabinet when he’d gone in search of Annika’s medicine night before last when she’d been sick.  It used to be a staple in both of their lives, the constant presence of every over-the-counter analgesic and anti-inflammatory medication on the market, though he supposes her fitness regime is much less intense these days, which means she probably only has these things on hand now as need dictates.

 

As he watches, she shakes her head, confirming his suspicion.

 

“Okay,” he says.  “Go take your bath.  I’m going to look around down here for some Tylenol.  I used the last of what I had upstairs a couple of days ago, but know I have some around here somewhere.  I think it might still be in my gym bag out in the car. I’ll bring some up in a little bit though.” If it’s not out in the car, if he has to drive to the store to get it, he will bring her something to take for her fever.  Tess doesn’t get sick often. In fact, he can only remember a handful of times that either one of them have been truly sick over the years, outside of the occasional bout with a cold. 

 

He watches her trudge, miserably, toward the stairs, and his heart squeezes painfully in his chest.

 

He fucking hates seeing her suffer.  

 

++++

 

“Tess?” he calls, quietly.  He pokes his head into Tessa’s open doorway and finds her bed empty.  He pads inside on socked feet, clutching two Extra Strength Tylenol in the palm of his hand, his footsteps silent on the plush carpeting.  He pauses just where rug meets tile. The bathroom door stands wide open, its recesses dark and quiet. He frowns to himself.

 

“Tess?” he calls as he makes his way back into the hallway.  Just as he starts to head back downstairs, thinking he’d missed her somehow when he came in from outside--the Tylenol  _ had _ been in his gym bag out in the car--he hears a noise coming from his bedroom.  He veers to the right and toes open his bedroom door, calling softly, “Tess, you in here?”

 

He hears a soft splash and an even softer, “I’m in here,” in reply.  

 

He makes his way to the partially open bathroom door and says, without stepping inside, “I brought you some Tylenol.”

 

“You can come in,” he hears in reply, and he swallows, audibly.  Sick or not, a naked Tessa is not something he can just ignore like it’s something he sees every day.  When he hesitates a moment too long he hears her say, “Scott, you can come in. It’s safe, I promise.” He can hear the smile in her voice despite the fact that she’s not feeling well.  He takes a deep breath and steps around the partially open door, entering the steam-filled recesses of his large master bath. As he breathes in the humid air, he experiences a brief flash of concern that she’s run the bath too hot when she’s already feverish, but the thought immediately leaves his mind when he takes in the sight before him.

 

She’s completely covered, only visible from the neck up, submerged as she is under a copious amount of Annika’s Mr. Bubbles.  Her eyes are closed, and she looks to be very near nodding off in his large garden tub. “I hope you don’t mind,” she says, not bothering to open her eyes.  “But your tub is better than mine.”

 

“Of course, I don’t mind,” he says, sitting the Tylenol and her half-drunk bottle of water on the bathroom counter.  He reaches for a towel and kneels next to the tub. He folds the soft cotton into a narrow strip, planning to tuck it behind her neck to cushion her head from the hard porcelain, but the bright pink flush of her cheeks reminds him of his previous concern.  Instead of offering her the towel, he dips his fingers into the bath, letting them disappear beneath the bubbles, unconcerned with the intimacy of the simple act. He grimaces at the heat that meets his fingertips. “Tess, this water’s too hot,” he chides.

 

“Feels good,” she whispers, and a shiver zings up his spine in response to those particular words paired with that breathless, satisfied tone.

 

He clears his throat.  “I know,” he commiserates, removing his hand and flicking the water from his fingers.  “But you need to get out of there before you give yourself brain damage,” he says. His words are teasing, but he’s only partially kidding.  She’d felt really hot before, and a scalding hot bath is  _ not _ what she’d needed, nor what he’d had in mind when he suggested she take a bath.

 

He turns and grabs a large, fluffy towel from the built-in shelves behind the bathroom door and sits it on the small table next to the tub.  He places her water bottle and Tylenol there, too, and says, “Come on. I’ll step outside, but you need to take your Tylenol and then get out of there, okay?”

 

She sighs a pained sigh, but then grumbles, “Fine.”

 

He nods and heads back into his bedroom, pulling the door shut behind him.  He flops down onto his large, king-sized bed and switches on the flat screen tv that’s mounted on the opposite wall.  

 

He’s going to give her ten minutes, he thinks, allowing for slow movement since she’s not feeling well, and then he’s going to press her about getting a move on.

 

She’s out in five.

 

When the door opens, she steps into his bedroom amidst a cloud of steam, pink cheeked and glassy-eyed, hair slipping free from her messy bun, the ends damp from the bath and curling slightly against the skin of her neck.  She’s stands there silently, a contemplative and slightly longing look on her face and a crease between her brows. She’s in a fluffy, cotton robe that looks like it should be fairly warm, but it’s apparently doing little to comfort her in her feverish state, he thinks, as he watches a harsh shiver run through her.

 

Wordlessly, he lifts his arm in invitation, and almost immediately she crosses the floor, her bare feet sinking, silently, into the carpet as she makes her way to his side.  She pauses only for the briefest of moments, and he doesn’t say a word, just watches her, his arm suspended there in mid air. Regardless of the situation, if she chooses to get in this bed with him, it will be of her own free will, and not because he coaxed her there or influenced her in any way--he’d decided that weeks ago.  As he watches, she reaches down and grasps the edge of his comforter, tugging it back until it meets resistance under his supine form. Eyeing him, she says, “I’m cold.” She shivers again, her body unconsciously reinforcing her words.

 

He drops his arm then and lifts himself up off of the mattress enough so she can tug the comforter down.  Once she’s managed to untuck the sheet and get the blankets folded back, he sinks back onto the bed and holds out his arm again.  This time, she climbs onto the mattress and curls into his side without hesitation, tugging the blankets up around her. 

 

He turns toward her slightly and tugs the thick comforter all the way up over her shoulders until she’s completely ensconced under the covers.  He can feel heat coming off of her in waves, but she seems to be under the impression that she’s freezing, her body clinging to his as if trying to syphon away all of his warmth.  He runs his hand up and down her upper arm, outside of the covers. 

 

When he picks up the remote and flips it over to The Tonight Show, she says, “You have a tv in here.”  She doesn’t sound surprised, it’s merely an observation, as if she’s noticing it for the first time, and maybe she is--it’s not like she’s been hanging out in his bedroom.  He knows she doesn’t keep a tv in her own bedroom, or at least she never used to, and there’s not one in her room here either.

 

He’d hesitated about having a television in the master, but years of hotel living had fostered a need in him to fall asleep to the low sound of the tv in the background--at least when he’s alone, and though he hasn’t been a monk since Tessa’d left, it  _ has _ been a long time since he’s spent the night with a woman (minus the other night with Tess when Anna was sick), and he’s never brought anyone back here, into his home.  So, yeah, he’d opted for the television.

 

“You know I can’t fall asleep without it,” he says, shrugging easily.  She’d spent those long hotel-dwelling years with him, had listened to the low murmur of the tv through thin hotel wall after thin hotel wall.  Despite the ease with which he can usually fall asleep, there are certain variables that make that feat possible.

 

“Mmm,” she says, noncommittally.  

 

They remain there in comfortable silence, watching Jimmy Fallon’s first, less famous guest give a semi-interesting interview.  During the commercial break, just before the main guest for the hour is set to make an appearance, he feels her head bob and drop against his shoulder before shooting back up.  He notes how her shoulders straighten as she attempts to shake herself awake. He turns the tv down to its requisite low murmur and darkens the screen to somewhere near completely black.  

 

“What’re you doing?” she asks, sleepily.  “I’m awake.”

 

“Sure you are,” he murmurs, chuckling.  “Come on,” he says, shifting onto his side, using his left hand on her shoulder to shift her, too.

 

“Scott, I’m cold,” she whines in protest.

 

“I’m not kicking you out, T,” he replies, amused at her uncharacteristic neediness.  “I’m just trying to get comfortable so we can sleep.” The idea that he’d ever, under any circumstances, kick Tessa out of his bed is pretty comical to him, and he can’t help the small smile that plays around his lips.  She can’t see it, anyway. The room is mostly dark now, and she’s facing away from him.

 

“Oh,” she says, as he tugs her back against him.  She sighs, as he wraps her in his arms. “Mmjussocold,” she mumbles through clenched teeth.

 

He squeezes her a little tighter, willing his warmth into her body.  “Are you feeling any better?” he asks, quietly. “How’s your head?”

 

“Better now that I’m lying down,” she says, equally quietly.

 

“I hate it when you’re sick,” he says.   _ Or injured _ , he thinks, remembering the awful years of watching her endure the pain of chronic compartment syndrome.  “I hate seeing you suffer,” he mumbles against her hair, voicing his thoughts from earlier.

 

“Labor would have been a real bitch for you then,” she says, softly, sleepily.

 

His mind is immediately inundated with images.  Tessa, heavily pregnant, like in the photograph of her at the cottage--the one that she’d brought to his parents’ that day in the album full of pictures of Annika.  Tessa, breathing heavily, telling Kate,  _ Mom, it’s time _ .  Tessa, sweaty and crying out in pain, reaching for a hand that should be his and isn’t.  He squeezes his eyes shut tight.

 

His left arm has been crossed tightly across her body, in an attempt to keep her warm, but he lets his hand trail down, now, until it comes to rest against her belly.  He’s touched her pretty much everywhere over the years, he thinks, and yet this touch carries a weight to it that few, if any, have before. He thinks his hand might actually be trembling as he presses his palm into the softness of her lower abdomen.

 

“You okay?” she asks, and her voice is little more than a whisper now.  She sounds sleepy, and yet more alert, more herself, than she has since he’d woken her a couple of hours ago, after she’d fallen asleep in the car.

 

“Just thinking,” he replies.  He tucks his chin and presses his nose against the back of her head, breathing in the warm, comforting scent of her steam-dampened hair.  “You grew our baby here,” he whispers into the soft skin at the nape of her neck. 

 

Her hand slips down and grips his wrist, and she squeezes it lightly, acknowledging his words.  He hears her swallow, and he imagines that he’s left her somewhat speechless with his random, emotional observation.  Now probably isn’t the time for talk like this, when she’s sleepy and sick, but there’s something about the quiet of the darkened room, something about being completely alone with her for the first time in what feels like forever, that has him opening up.

 

“When I picture you pregnant,” he says.  “You always look so sad.” He shifts behind her, bringing his knees up into the bend of her own, tucking the two of them together even more completely than before.  “I hate that,” he whispers. He hates that  _ that’s _ the image his mind supplies when he thinks about something so special.

 

“Scott,” she breathes, slipping her hand along the back of his and lacing her fingers between his larger ones.  “I wasn’t,” she assures. “I mean, I  _ was _ sad, but not always.  I was so in love with her, even before she was born.  Just the idea of her made me so happy.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “You picture me pregnant?”

 

For a moment he lays there, silent, unsure how to answer, but eventually he just says, “Yeah, sometimes I do.”

 

She doesn’t say anything for a long time, and after awhile he begins to think she’s fallen asleep.  It’s only when she lifts his hand from her belly to her lips and presses a soft, chaste kiss into his open palm that he knows she’s still awake.

 

He might be imagining it, but he thinks her skin feels a little cooler against his now, and the thought brings him comfort.  When she finally drifts off against him, her breaths becoming long and even, he allows himself to fully relax for the first time since the interview.  

 

It doesn’t occur to him until he’s on the verge of sleep, himself, that she’d never said a word about his comment regarding a possible engagement between them at some point in the future.  

 

_ This girl _ , he thinks, hugging her sleeping form to him, affectionately, careful not to wake her.   _ She never fails to keep me on my toes _ .

 

Smiling, he drifts off to sleep.

 

++++

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	24. TWENTY-FOUR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks 'Boo, for all of the advice, encouragement, notes, and error-catching. ;)

 

 

 

 

++++

 

“Tess?” Scott calls as he comes in the front door carrying Annika in one strong arm.  Dropping his keys and sunglasses on the table by the door, he makes his way to the bottom of the stairs, setting Annika on her feet and calling out questioningly, “Where are you, Virtch?  We’re all gassed up and ready to go!” It’s mid-morning already, and they need to get on the road in order to arrive at the cottage at the same time as everyone else.

 

“I’ll be right down,” she calls, running a brush through her hair one last time before grabbing her bag and bounding downstairs to drop it next to his and Annika’s.  It’s been a few days since she was sick, and she feels much better now. Thankfully, she’s managed to fight off whatever virus they’d been exposed to after only about twenty-four hours of actual illness.  Scott had played nursemaid and pumped her full of electrolyte water and vitamin C until no germ dared remain anywhere near her. He, of course, had managed to slip by without so much as a sniffle. 

 

She looks at him, the picture of health despite being fully exposed to whatever viral infection she and Anna had been clobbered by.  _  Some things never change _ , she thinks, remembering how infrequently he’d been ill over the years.  She smiles to herself. She’s giving him a maximum of six months of living with a toddler before he’s flat on his back with some sort of communicable disease.

 

“You ready to go bye-bye, Bean?” she asks, smiling fondly as she flicks her eyes downward and watches their child drag her small, purple duffle bag toward the front door. 

 

“Byebye!” Annika parrots, nodding happily.  “Me see Gigi an’ Anjo!” she babbles in a rush.  

 

“Yep, that’s right,” Tessa encourages her, drawing out the conversation just to hear her daughter’s expanding vocabulary at work.  “Gigi and Aunt Jo, and Uncle Kevin and Uncle Casey.”

 

“Yeah!” she replies, letting go of her bag and turning with raised arms.  “Me see them!” she says, excitedly, as Tessa swings her up onto one slender hip and presses a kiss against her temple.  She smells like a heavenly mix of baby soap, fabric softener, and Scott’s cologne, and Tessa breathes her in, unable to get enough of that scent.

 

“Alright, ladies,” Scott says, handing Tessa Annika’s backpack before swinging both of their overnight bags onto his shoulder and hefting Anna’s little, purple duffle into his free hand.  “Let’s hit the road,” he finishes, as he ushers them through the front door and locks up behind them.

 

They stop for gas once on the drive to the lake, mainly because Tessa knows they’re pushing it on how far Anna can make it without a potty break.  They pick a random gas station slightly more than halfway to the cottage, and of course, manage to stumble across the one paparazzo within a fifty mile radius.  Tessa’s heart sinks when the three of them step outside the glass double doors after loading up on drinks and snacks so that they can forego stopping to eat lunch, only to find a lone cameraman with his lens trained, unmistakably, on them.

 

He’s calling their names and shouting questions in their direction before they can even step off the curb and into the parking lot, and she thinks it’s a foregone conclusion that they’ll be on the local news by this evening.  She tucks her shoulders forward and presses Annika’s face into her neck, doing her best to not give the guy a full shot of either of their faces. She starts to deviate from her current path, planning to give the guy and his camera a wide berth, but the determined man mirrors her movements and nearly meets them head on in the parking lot, stopping them midway between her SUV and the store.  She freezes momentarily, unsure what to do, but Scott surprises her, slinging his arm around her shoulders and marching them straight toward the guy.

 

“Turn it off,” he commands, when they get within arm’s reach of the camera, placing his hand over the lens.  She can almost hear his teeth grinding in irritation, and she can feel the tension in his body where his side is pressed snugly against hers.  “I’m not kidding...turn it  _ off _ ,” he repeats, his voice deadly serious.  Tessa’s stomach clenches nervously as she lifts her eyes in time to see the muscle in Scott’s jaw clench in controlled rage.  She rarely sees this side of him, but she knows he has a temper he usually works quite hard to keep in check. This guy seems to have pushed all the right buttons, though, in order to get an instant reaction.

 

She sees Scott glance at the photographer’s wedding band, and she hears him shift gears, saying quietly, “Come on, man, this is my family.”  He nods to where Annika sits cuddled against Tessa’s chest, and his hand slips low, landing on Tessa’s hip possessively, giving it a silent, reassuring squeeze.  She warms inside instantly in response to Scott’s words and his actions. She watches the man’s eyes follow the protective movement, and as she watches, something in his expression shifts, and he backs off, suddenly, unexpectedly.

 

He doesn’t apologize, but he does put the camera down.

 

Scott tugs her forward on stumbling feet before she even fully realizes they’ve been granted a sort of momentary reprieve.  Once they reach the SUV he unlocks it and then turns around and walks back toward the papparrazo, who has begun to stow his equipment into the back of a late model sedan.  While she gets Annika buckled back into her carseat she watches as the two men exchange a few words, Scott takes something from the man, and they part ways amicably enough.

 

“What was that all about?” Tessa asks as she climbs into the passenger seat just as Scott closes the driver’s side door.

 

He hands her a small, white card.  The man’s business card, she realizes.  “I told him if he doesn’t release whatever content he managed to get today, then when we have something we want to share with the media he’ll be our first call.”  His eyes search hers for approval. “Seemed fair.”

 

She nods.  It is fair.  She just hopes the guy believed Scott and that he’s worthy of Scott’s tentative faith in his character.  Personally, she’s unconvinced.

 

They drive the rest of the way to the cottage in near silence, save Annika’s happy chatter from the backseat.  She falls asleep about ten kilometers before the turn off to the lake, and Tessa can’t take the total lack of sound that follows.  When she can see bits of shimmering blue through the breaks in the tall trees that line the winding road she says, “What if he sells whatever pictures he got today anyway?”

 

“I don’t think he will, but if he does...there’s nothing we can really do about it now, right?  Don’t worry about it, T. Okay?” he says, imploringly, as if he can feel her beginning to let her anxiety spin out of control.

 

“How can I not?” she asks, her voice tinged with disbelief.

 

He glances over at her and then back at the road.  “Look, I know that, ideally, we’d be left to our own devices, and no one would care about what we do or where we go anymore, but, realistically, that’s not going to happen--probably not for a long while,” he says, reaching over and slipping his fingers between hers, holding her hand in his larger one.  He gives a light, reassuring squeeze. “But, you know, even if he does release the photos or video or whatever he managed to get today, or if someone else takes pictures of us next week and gives them to the press, who cares? We don’t have to be so careful anymore about what everyone thinks. The media, the fans…” he shrugs as if to say,  _ What they think doesn’t really matter _ .  “We worked our asses off for nearly twenty years, we entertained people, we won a gold medal in the fucking Olympics, Kiddo,” he says, shooting her a lopsided grin.  “And we gave them a final interview, like we said we would,” he adds, squeezing her hand again in a way that seems to say,  _ We’ve fulfilled our obligation here _ .  “It’s just us, T, if we want it to be.  From here on out.”

 

She stares, silently, at their joined hands, taking in his words.

 

She lets the idea roll around in her head.   _ Just don’t worry about it,  _ she thinks.  Let the media say whatever they want and allow the chips to fall where they may.  What’s the worst thing that could happen anyway? People find out the truth--that they aren’t perfect?  That  _ Canada’s Sweethearts _ are just people like everyone else--flawed and vulnerable and utterly human?  That they screwed up everything between them and didn’t speak for three years? They’re together now, right?  For all intents and purposes, anyway, and it would definitely seem so from an outsider’s point of view, she thinks.  Their relationship is back on track, and they’re raising their daughter together. Isn’t  _ that _ what counts?  They’re both successful outside of their sport, they have the support of their families, and they have each other--she’s certain of that now, of him.  Scott’s here, with her, with Annika, for however long she wants him to be, and while she isn’t quite ready to look too closely at that particular piece of the puzzle, she knows it’s there, ready to be fitted into the bigger picture whenever she  _ is _ ready.

 

_ It’s just us, T, if we want it to be _ , she replays his words in her head.

 

She glances over at him, at his comfortingly familiar profile, his strong hand on the wheel, guiding them, keeping them safely on course, and the symbolism isn’t lost on her. 

 

What if, for the first time in her life that she can remember, she just lives her life?  No image, no brand, just Tessa. Tessa and Annika--and Scott. What if they just live their life?

 

She feels the tight ball of anxiety in her gut uncoil just a bit.

 

It’s a nice thought, full of warm, glowing possibility.  She lets a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth, and she nods and curls her fingers a little tighter against his.

 

By the time they pull into the driveway of the cottage, she’s made a solid decision. 

 

She’s going to try to live her life without worrying about outside expectations.  The realization that she  _ can _ is an epiphany, and for the first time since she was eight or nine years old, she arrives at the cottage feeling like plain old Tessa Jane--not an Olympian, not a celebrity, not one half of  _ Canada’s Sweethearts _ \--just Tess.  Just a woman, spending a weekend at the lake with her family.  She’s not worried about what will happen when she gets back to the “real world” in a couple of days because this  _ is _ the real world, it’s her real world.  It’s her life, all of it--and she’s finally, finally going to live it exactly how she wants to.

 

++++

 

When they pull up in front of the cottage they are greeted by a large pack of overly-helpful Virtues.  Apparently they are the last to arrive, and their arrival has been highly anticipated--especially by her older brothers, who appear immediately to “help” Scott with the three small bags they’ve packed for the weekend.  They haven’t seen him since before the whole misunderstanding regarding Annika, and they are under strict orders from Tessa (and probably Kate as well) to behave themselves. Tessa had promised them that she, Scott, and their daughter would be leaving immediately the first time anyone stepped out of line.  She knows there will be some settling in that will have to happen this weekend, but she’s determined that despite their general overprotectiveness toward her, her brothers  _ will _ treat Scott with respect.

 

As soon as she has Annika unbuckled from her carseat, the child is flinging herself out of Tessa’s arms and toward a waiting Kate.  “Gigi!” Annika squeals, happily, clearly excited to see her grandmother. It’s been a little bit, and the two of them become immediately enraptured with each other’s presence to the exclusion of everyone else.

 

“Guess I’ll take my turn with you two since it’s going to be a minute before that one realizes anyone else is here,” Jordan says, good-naturedly, stepping forward to hug first Tessa and then Scott, warmly.  Tessa is grateful to her big sister for breaking the ice and setting the example for how this interaction should go. Tessa watches Casey warily over the shoulder of her sister-in-law, Megan, who’s the next to embrace her.  Tessa knows that Kevin will take his cues from Casey, and she prays that her oldest brother remembers how much he used to like Scott, that is back before Scott got his baby sister pregnant. Despite the fact that her family now knows what happened back then, there had obviously been a lot of negative feelings at the time, especially for the boys.  She hopes knowing the truth will allow her brother’s to overcome some of their hurt and anger over what they’d felt was the ultimate betrayal by someone they’d considered a friend. Casey gives her a knowing look over Megan’s shoulder, as if he knows exactly what she’s thinking, and she raises her eyebrows at him, pleadingly. She sees him soften just a little and shrug as if to say,  _ Whatever you want _ , and she knows that, for the moment anyway, things will be okay.  He’ll try, despite any lingering ill will he holds for Scott. He’ll do it for her--and for Annika, because he’s her big brother, and that’s what they do.

 

As she watches, he sets the bag he’d taken from her SUV on the ground and reaches forward for Scott’s hand.  “Scott,” he says, offering to shake, politely. It’s formal, but it’s acceptable, she concedes, given the situation and their history.  They are guys, after all, and she knows they will have to work out their own friendship in their own way. She can’t ask for or expect any more than civility from any of them.  Anything beyond extending that basic courtesy is up to them.

 

Scott shakes her brother’s hand and offers a friendly, if slightly uncomfortable, smile in return.  She knows this weekend is going to be challenging for Scott, and yet, he’s shown up for her. That fact alone would have made her his number one supporter, if she wasn’t already.  Her attention slips back to Casey as he steps forward and envelopes her in a big bear hug. “Hey Sam,” he says, softly. “How was the drive?”

 

“It was fine,” she says, honestly, hugging him back with gusto.  “Scott had to scare away a photographer at a gas station on the way up, but we managed a pretty clean getaway, I think,” she says, surprisingly less worried about the unsavory meeting in the parking lot than she’d been only a short while ago.  Casey steps back and holds her at arm’s length, raising his eyebrows at her, clearly surprised by her relaxed attitude regarding the blatant invasion of her privacy. She smiles at him, allowing him to see her truly relaxed and happy demeanor. After a long moment he nods, gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze, and steps back so that Kevin can greet her as well.

 

Kevin is equally formal but slightly more friendly with Scott, and Tessa’s grinning in open relief when she feels a small weight come to rest against her legs.  She looks down and finds her niece staring up at her with wide eyes and a happy smile. “Hi Aunt T!” she says, brightly.

 

“Hi sweet pea!” Tessa says, lifting her up into her arms and giving her a hug.  Casey’s daughter is one of Tessa’s favorite people on the planet, and she wishes she got to spend more time with her than she does.  “You and Annika haven’t gotten to see each other in a little while. You girls are going to have so much fun this weekend!”

 

“Can Annika play baby dolls with me?” Casey’s mini-me asks, excitedly.

 

“Absolutely,” Tessa replies, smiling.  “She even brought her favorite baby with her.  It’s in her backpack,” she says. “If you ask her daddy really nicely I bet he’ll get it out for her, and you guys can go play as soon as we get inside.”

 

Not needing to be told twice, the little girl scrambles down from Tessa’s arms and walks the few child-sized paces over to where Scott’s standing, asking, innocently, “Are you Annika’s daddy?”

 

“I sure am,” he says, and Tessa wonders if she’s the only one that can hear the unmistakable note of pride in his voice as he says it.  

 

“Can you get her baby out of her packpack so me and her can play baby dolls?” the little girl asks, sweetly.

 

“I can,” he says, dropping Annika’s bag from his shoulder and kneeling down to open it.  A second later he produces a well-loved, half-silicone, half-cotton babydoll dressed in a pale yellow, footed sleeper.  “Can you take this to Annika?” he asks the pixie-like child standing before him.

 

She nods, sweetly, in response and says, “Thank you!”  

 

Scott looks at Tessa.  “I can’t believe how big she is,” he says, awe in his voice.  “She was just a baby the last time I saw her.”

 

“I know, right?” she says.  “Every time I see her I swear she’s grown at least an inch and learned a thousand new things.”  She reaches out her hand and helps Scott to his feet. It’s a gesture more than a necessity as he obviously doesn’t need help standing, and he smiles, gratefully, at the unsolicited contact before stepping forward to say hello to Megan.

 

Once they’ve all finished saying their hellos, Anna has reclaimed her beloved baby, and Kate has finally handed Annika off to Jordan long enough to greet both Tessa and Scott with warm hugs, they set off across the gravel driveway toward the cottage.

 

After they step inside, Tessa asks Kate where they should put their stuff.  “In the back,” she says, gesturing down the hall. “In your old room.”

 

Scott moves behind Tessa and slips Annika’s backpack up onto her shoulders, freeing his hands to take their bags back from Casey and Kevin and then waits, patiently, for Tessa to lead the way to their temporary quarters.  

 

Jordan gives Tessa a look, and she’s not quite sure of it’s in response to the easy way Scott touches her now or the fact that they’ll be sharing a room for the weekend.  In any case, she decides to dodge the issue for now. “Have you got her?” she asks Jordan, nodding toward Annika, who’s still resting, happily, on Jordan’s hip.

 

“Yeah, I’ve got her,” Jordan answers, her tone implying that they will definitely be talking later.

 

Sleeping arrangements for the weekend have been prearranged, so Tessa and Scott knew in advance they’d be sharing a room.  Things are a bit tighter accommodation-wise than they have been in years past, now that Casey and Megan, as well as Tessa and Scott, have little ones in tow.  The cottage only has three bedrooms, but there is a bonus room in the loft that has a comfy pull-out couch, so there’s just enough room for all of them if Scott and Tessa don’t mind sharing a room, which Tessa has assured her mother they do not.  Kate had fretted a bit at first, but Tessa had convinced her that the three of them would be fine in any of the rooms for a couple of nights. So, they’re taking one of the two bedrooms that have a king-sized bed since they’re sharing with Annika, and Casey and Megan are taking the other to share with their daughter.  Kevin is staying upstairs in the loft, and Kate and Jordan are sharing the master suite, which has a California king and its own en suite bathroom. The room Tessa and Scott are staying in is actually the one that she and Jordan used to share, so, in fact, it sports two twin beds that have been shoved together, in recent years, for practicality.  There’s a mattress topper on it for comfort, but the bed could easily be divided back into its previous form, if needed. Tessa knows this, and she knows that Kate does as well.

 

She gives her Mom a brief hug as she passes by on her way down the hall, before leading Scott to the room they’ll be staying in for the weekend.  Her mother has silently given her an out, should she need one, but has left the decision up to her. It’s just a small representation of the way in which Kate has silently supported her throughout her entire life, and she’s once again grateful for the blessing of her Mom’s steady, graceful style of parenting.  

 

Kate spends the next little while making sure all of her kids are comfortable in their rooms.  Apparently, everyone had arrived only a short time before Tessa and Scott, and no one had truly had a chance to unpack yet.  So, everyone migrates away to their separate quarters to settle in and eventually wanders back and meets up in the family room some time later.

 

It’s fall outside, and the weather is cool, but mild enough to still be pleasant, so the decision is made to use the outdoor fireplace to grill an early dinner of steak and chicken skewers with fresh veggies purchased from the farmer’s market nearby.  Casey and Megan had stopped on their way up at Kate’s request and picked up all the vegetables they’d need for the weekend. Tessa and Scott had brought steaks from the small, family-owned butcher shop in Ilderton as their contribution for the weekend.  The shop owner had been kind enough to pack them on ice in a small, styrofoam ice chest they’d stowed in the back of her SUV for the drive up to the lake. Everyone else had pitched in with odds and ends, and Tessa knows she’ll leave this weekend at least a half pound heavier than when she arrived.  She smiles easily, though, not worried about the calories involved should she choose to indulge in a beer or a slice of chocolate cake. She’s not training anymore, not worrying about a photo shoot tomorrow or an outfit she needs to fit into next week. She looks around at her family as everyone finds a job to do, even the girls are pitching in, happily helping Kate set the table with paper plates and plastic cups, and she thinks about how relaxed and happy she is here, with these people who love her, unconditionally.  

 

Dinner is delicious, and the conversation is light and fun, focused mostly on catching up with what everyone’s been up to lately.  The girls are loud and entertaining, and the adults are pleasantly buzzed on just the right amount of Kevin’s home brewed lager (his contribution for the weekend).  Scott takes on the responsibility of feeding Annika dinner, and Tessa gratefully seizes the opportunity to visit with her family. She enjoys watching them watch him with Annika.  She gets a little lost watching him, too, honestly; and, later, when he saves the flower made of frosting from the top of his dessert cake for her because he likes dark chocolate frosting but he knows that she  _ loves _ it, she briefly contemplates marriage.  Then she nearly laughs out loud at the thought because that’s a big leap from where they are right now, even as a half-joke supplied by a brain inebriated on sinfully sweet chocolate and full-bodied beer.

 

“So Scott,” Casey says, just as dinner is winding down, and Tessa’s stomach clenches in nervous anticipation.  “Tessa mentioned you’re coaching now. How’s that going?” She relaxes a little. Scott is an amazing coach. If Casey gets him talking about Kallie and Mase he’s bound to see how passionate he is about them and what he’s doing now.  There’s no way he’ll miss how sure Scott is that he’s found his true calling. She knows one of Casey’s big fears, as her older brother, is the same fear she’d had when initially allowing Scott back into her life. Scott had been so lost before, after Sochi, so untethered.  Her brothers will be so proud of him when they see who he is now, though, they all will. Tessa is the baby of her family, and in a way, so is Scott. Her family watched them both grow up, side by side. She knows deep down they really want Scott to be happy, and they want him to be the boy they remember, the boy they’d always believed him to be.  She’s happy to know that they won’t be disappointed. 

 

She settles in and listens as Scott begins to talk about his team and taking Anna skating for the first time, and she imagines that she can see the moment each of her family members decides to give him a chance to find his way back into the Virtue fold.  For Kevin it’s when he asks about the new micro-brewery and how he gets the perfect amount of hops in his lager. For Kate it’s when Annika insists that  _ Daddy _ remove her meat from her skewers for her, which he does with ease and a gentle hand, and for Megan it’s when he turns and happily does the same for his daughter’s sweet cousin, too.  

 

Eventually they move the conversation back inside as the sun sets and the evening turns chilly.  They settle in the living room, and Tessa keeps watching, and waiting. Jordan had already allowed Scott to work his way back into her good graces, Tessa knows, but for Casey, she thinks, it will take a little bit more convincing.  Finally, when her body is warm and relaxed from good beer and easy conversation, and her eyes are growing heavy-lidded in response to the darkening sky and the late hour, she sees it. For Casey, the moment comes when Scott sees Tessa yawn, widely, and glance down at Annika and, before she can even say a word, he’s already on his feet, lifting their daughter from her lap and offering her a hand.  As he tugs her, gently, to her feet, he says, “Come on, Virtch. It’s been a long day. Let’s get this sweet girl to bed.” She knows he’s giving her an out, allowing her to beg off from further conversation and pleasantries, because they need to put their daughter to bed, when in fact, he can read the exhaustion clearly on her face, and he knows she needs the rest but would consider it rude to excuse herself from a room full of people (even her own family) just because she’s feeling tired.  She knows this, and when she glances over at Casey, she sees that he does, too. The small, approving smile he gives her as she allows herself to be pulled to her feet is all the confirmation she needs. It’s not everything, but it’s something--it’s a start.

 

She says her goodnights to her family and promises to stay up later the next night, when they haven’t spent a good portion of the day on the road.  Noises of agreement are made all around, and she’s pretty sure that within the hour the cottage will be silent and dark.

 

They make their way to the bedroom, and Scott hands Annika back to Tessa so he can turn down the bed and grab a pair of pajamas from her little, purple duffel bag.

 

“Hold me,” Annika pleads as soon as he steps away, reaching a single hand out to him and opening and closing her small fist in a gesture that draws him back from across the small space between them.  This is not her two-handed, please-pick-me-up reach, and Tessa smiles up at him, knowingly. This is something new she’s been asking for ever since the night she was sick, and they all slept together in Tessa’s bed, forming a new familial closeness.  Scott steps forward, opening his arms, indulgently, and Annika turns and settles her head back against Tessa’s shoulder, waiting for Scott’s arms to envelope them both. As soon as his chest comes to rest against Annika’s back, and his arms wrap around Tessa’s waist, Tessa feels Annika sigh and relax between them.  “Night, night,” she says, contentedly.

 

“Night, night, Bean,” Tessa whispers, dropping her forehead onto Scott’s shoulder, and thinking about how similar this feels to their infamous pre-skate hug.  She allows herself a few more moments to indulge in the closeness, before pulling away, lest she fall asleep standing up.

 

They get Annika dressed for bed and safely tucked in under the covers and then take turns in the bathroom, before finally settling in for the night.  After a few minutes of quiet conversation whispered in the dark, over the top of their sleeping daughter’s head, he pauses, and she hears the pause more than she heard the words that came just before it--it’s long and overly-full of whatever it is he’s about to say.  Her ears perk up, and she holds perfectly still, waiting. She thinks about her recent decision to just relax and live her life, and she wonders if his next words might shift that life in a new direction.

 

“Something’s different,” he finally whispers into the darkness.  “ _ You’re _ different tonight.  I mean, you’re  _ you _ , but there’s something...I don’t know, different.”  She can hear him shift against the sheets, can feel the movement of his shoulders and she can picture his casual shrug as clearly as if they were under the midday sun.  She smiles up at him in the darkness, because he’s right--she is different, and the fact that he’s noticed soothes something inside of her that’s usually restless and anxious.  He knows her so well, and she thinks that in all the world, in all of life, there’s nothing more comforting to a soul than being seen, being  _ known _ .

  
  
  
  



	25. TWENTY-FIVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (bows down to my beta for her skills and encouragement) Thanks Boo! <3

++++

 

 

 

When Tessa wakes in the morning, she finds herself smiling broadly before her eyes are even open, something that probably hasn’t happened to her since toddlerhood.  In fact, well before school age Tessa had discovered an intense love for sleeping in, one which she’s never managed to get over, and anything that jeopardizes her ability to do just that typically has her in a mood before her eyes are even open--at least until she’s fully caffeinated--but not this morning.  Today, Tessa has awakened to the sound of exaggerated whispers being exchanged back and forth between her two favorite people in the world.

 

“Mama have ‘mores?” she hears in Annika’s sweet, little-girl voice.

 

“Uh-huh,” she hears Scott whisper back, somewhat more quietly than their daughter.  “Mama loves s’mores. In fact, she’s the best s’more-maker I know.”

 

Tessa hears Annika’s delighted gasp, and can’t help the wide smile that stretches across her face in response.  Scott must’ve been watching her because she feels the bed shift and then his finger tracing softly down the bridge of her nose.  “Morning, Kiddo,” he says, quietly but no longer bothering to whisper. “Sorry. We tried to let you sleep in a bit. Didn’t we Toepick?” he asks, now clearly addressing the toddler bouncing excitedly between them.

 

“Mama sleep in,” Annika agrees, seriously, all the while bouncing with a vigor that jostles the entire bed and all of its occupants.

 

“I appreciate the thought,” Tessa says, stretching and yawning before finally cracking open her wide green eyes, now clear and rested after a good night’s sleep.  “But I didn’t count on sleeping-in much with this one in here with us,” she says, poking Annika, gently, in the side, causing her to cackle in response.

 

“You think we would’ve slept in if we were alone?” Scott asks, playfully.

 

She’s probably blushing, but she meets his gaze anyway and just gives a small, teasing shrug before rolling away from the two of them and planting both feet on the floor.  “Who wants breakfast?” she sing-songs, feeling light and happy.

 

++++

 

Everyone trickles in for breakfast at varying speeds, but by afternoon the whole group is back on enough of the same schedule that they can share a large lunch of chicken salad sandwiches and fresh fruit salad.  Kevin supervises while the girls make homemade ice cream for “lunch-dessert”, after which Casey suggests taking them on a nature hike to counteract the impending sugar rush.

 

Kate asks Kevin to help her get everything set up for hot dogs and s’mores over the campfire later that evening, and despite protests and some gentle ribbing Jordan begs off to take a work call, which just leaves Tessa and Scott to accompany Megan and Casey on their wilderness adventure.  The four of them, along with the girls, set off just after everything is cleared away from lunch, and they don’t have to wander far before they discover a whole world of creatures to engage the kids. The tree line is less than the length of a standard ice hockey rink from the cottage, and they see a rabbit and two squirrels before they even reach the canopy of stately broadleaf trees.  Once inside the forest the girls discover a myriad of amphibian and reptilian friends in the form of frogs, turtles, and one disturbingly large toad. The girls laugh to near hysterics when Casey and Scott take turns chasing them (and their mothers) with the hideous, wart-covered thing. Their antics come to an abrupt end when the geriatric polliwog relieves itself in Casey’s hand.

 

Megan and Tessa share a good laugh over that, and then they spend the next fifteen minutes looking for the closest water source, be it shoreline or otherwise, so that Casey can wash his hands.

 

They see all sorts of bugs and birds and even an otter once they get a little closer to the shoreline, but it’s the fuzzy, yellow caterpillar with bright purple-blue spots on it that captivates Annika the most.  It’s Scott that spots it, and he plucks it gently from its place on the smooth bark of an aging red maple tree and places it gently into Annika’s outstretched hand. She giggles happily when it inches its way along her chubby palm, dragging its soft bristle-like hair against her skin.  “Him mine,” she says sweetly, all the while petting “him” carefully along his body. “Him my caterpillar,” she insists, and it sounds something like cal-er-pill-er.

 

“We can’t keep him, Bean,” Tessa tells her, gently.  “We have to put him back so he can turn into a butterfly, okay?”

 

Annika looks unconvinced and decidedly unhappy with having to leave her new friend behind in the forest.  Scott kneels down next to her and Tessa watches, enchanted, as he pulls Anna up onto his knee and presses a kiss to the side her head.  “We have to leave him here, so he can find his Mommy, Toepick. Don’t you think he’ll be sad if we take him home with us and he can’t find her?”

 

Annika’s little face snaps to Tessa, and her expression switches instantly from a pout to a look of earnest concern.  She reaches her small hand out to Tessa and offers her the tiny, furry critter. “Want me to put him back on the tree, Bean?” Tessa asks her.  Annika nods and lays her head on Scott’s shoulder as Tessa takes the caterpillar from her outstretched hand and places the small, wiggly body back where they’d found it.

 

Sometimes she’s in total awe of her baby’s sweet, loving heart.  From the look on Scott’s face, Tessa thinks he feels the same way.  

 

They continue on in the woods for another hour or so, slowly winding back toward the cottage, and by the time they reach the open field the girls are obviously crashing from their earlier sugar high.  Casey lifts his daughter up onto Megan’s shoulders and then swings Annika up onto his own, giving them a break for the remainder of the walk back.

 

“Mama!  I riding!” Annika says happily, glancing over her shoulder at Tessa and Scott.

 

“I see that!  What a lucky girl you are, getting to ride back.  I wish Uncle CeCe would carry me,” Tessa says with faux jealousy, using the nickname they’d all adopted for her oldest brother when Anna’d been unable to pronounce _Uncle Casey_ properly.

 

“Daddy do it,” Annika says, easily, as if the answer is obvious and makes perfect sense to her.

 

The adults all laugh at that, but then to Tessa’s surprise Scott steps in front of her, presenting his back.  She stops walking, abruptly, and gives him a confused look. “You heard the lady,” he says, grinning. “Come on, Virtch.  I’ll give ya a lift back to the cottage.”

 

“No,” she laughs, moving to step around him.  “You’re so crazy,” she adds, shaking her head.

 

“Come on,” he says, stopping her with a gentle hand on her forearm.  “It’ll be like old times,” he adds, smiling.

 

_He’s right_ , she thinks.  It _would_ be like old times.  He’s given her many a piggyback ride over the years.  Here, on the ice, when her legs were bothering her, when they were goofing off, and for no particular reason at all.  

 

She thinks about her plan to just _live_.  “Okay,” she says, smiling back at him.

 

He crouches, slightly, in front of her, allowing her to place her hands upon his shoulders, and when she feels his hands find purchase on the backs of her thighs, she hops up onto his back, easily.  He hefts her up a little higher on his back until her chest rests against his shoulder blades and then sets off at a trot to catch up to the others who’ve now managed to move several paces ahead of them.  He moves like she weighs nothing, just as he always has, and he is shoulder to shoulder with Casey again in a matter of seconds. Annika cackles delightedly at the sight of Tessa draped over Scott’s back, and Casey gives the two of them an amused look, but remains surprisingly silent.

 

Once they reach the cottage, Scott lets Tessa slip slowly to the ground, giving her backside a playful pat as she steps around him to retrieve Annika from Casey’s shoulders.  Her footsteps falter, slightly, as she feels the reverberation in the center of her body. She rolls her eyes at him but feels slightly pink-cheeked as she heads inside, taking a little girl’s hand in each of her own, with plans to get them settled in for a short nap before dinner.

 

++++

 

The fire pops, sending orange-red sparks soaring into the night sky.  It smells like wood smoke and charred marshmallow, the enticing smell of fire-roasted hot dogs having faded into oblivion sometime between dinner and now.  With the shortened days of autumn upon them, darkness had fallen a couple of hours ago, leaving the stars to shine in full force.

 

Scott shifts on the outdoor lounger and looks over his shoulder when he hears the back door open somewhere behind him.  The firepit and its circle of chairs are set apart from the cottage, closer to the beach than the dwelling itself, so it takes almost a full minute for him to make out the shape of the person moving toward him through the darkness.  Warmth settles in his belly as soon as he recognizes Tessa’s familiar footfalls on the sand.

 

“Hey, Kiddo,” he hears her say softly as she approaches, and he smiles in the dark even though he knows she can’t see his expression.

 

“Hey, Kiddo,” he replies, touched by her use of the old nickname that she used to on rare occasions toss back his way.  “What are you doing down here? Everything okay?”

 

“Yeah,” she tosses back, easily, coming to a stop beside his lounge chair.  “Just coming to check on you. You were kind of quiet at dinner tonight, and now you’re sitting out here all alone and broody.”

 

He chuckles, softly, at that.  “I’m not broody,” he says, scooting up in the lounger and dropping his legs off of either side.  He pats the space where his legs had been resting moments before and says, “Here, sit.” She’s wearing loose, cotton capri pants, the kind she sometimes sleeps in, and a thin, long-sleeved, cotton t-shift.  She’s got a fleece throw blanket draped over her shoulders to ward off the slight chill in the air, and he reaches out and gives it a gentle tug. “Just enjoying the view,” he says, nodding toward the expanse of dark, open water before them.

 

She watches him, silently, for a moment.  Her eyes glitter in the darkness, and he waits to see if she’ll stay with him or not.  Then, as he watches, she kicks her runners off into the sand and lets the blanket slip from her shoulders.  Gracefully, she turns and settles herself onto the lounger, shifting backwards until she can rest her back against his chest.  Lifting his legs back up onto the chair, he reaches around her and takes the soft, fleece from her fingers, giving it a shake, allowing it to open and settle back over their lower extremities.  She sighs, contentedly, and he feels her body relax against him. “Does your mom have Anna?” he asks, knowing that whoever has her, she’s in good hands with any one of the Virtues.

 

Tessa shakes her head and he feels some of her fine hairs catch in the faint stubble that’s lining his jaw at this late hour.  There’s something intimate about it, and he slips his arms under the blanket and squeezes her close, pressing a soft kiss against her ear in response.  There’s an easiness to them this weekend, and he can’t help but respond to it. It’s like old times, and like nothing they’ve ever experience all at once.  “Jo’s giving the girls a bath and then taking them up to the loft to watch a movie. She and Kevin want to show them The Little Rascals.”

He nods in response, letting his stubble drag against the softness of her hair again, enjoying the feeling.  Then he leans his head back, slightly. The fire’s died down considerably, but the moon is a quarter full, and the lake reflects its light in such a way that there’s a soft glow around them, providing enough illumination that he can _just_ make out her features.  “What about your mom?” he asks, sliding his hands down over her shoulders, the bend of her elbows.  He feels her shiver against him, and the soft, fine hair on her forearms tickle his palms as gooseflesh spreads across her skin.

 

“She’s probably reading,” she replies, and her voice sounds slightly raspy.  “But she’s--she’s in bed for the night,” she adds.

 

“Casey and Meg?” he asks, his fingers slipping bravely beneath the hem of her t-shirt.  Her breath catches, and he pauses cautiously here, drawing light circles against the skin of her belly.  

 

She swallows, audibly, and turns to face him over her shoulder.  “Already asleep,” she whispers, her eyes meeting his before dropping to his lips, conveying that her current thoughts are exactly in line with his own.  

 

He presses his lips to hers before either of them can second guess the move.  They’ve been here before but tonight feels different somehow. They feel different.  He takes the plunge and deepens the kiss.

 

Her body is resting fully against the length of his, and his mouth is seducing her, keeping her focus directed just there, over her right shoulder, even as his hands move from the bare skin of her belly around to the curve of her waist.  They rest on her hips, squeezing tightly as he deepens the kiss further, then, slowly, she feels his fingers begin to migrate north in formation, like geese journeying home after a long, cold winter. The pads of his fingers drag deliciously along her skin, tracing over the delicate lines of her ribs, until finally the gentle swells of her breasts disappear under the warm weight of his palms.  She sighs into his kiss and then whimpers and shifts her thighs together when he rolls her nipples between his thumbs and fingers. Her mouth falls open and he merely takes it as an invitation, stroking her tongue with his own, his expert kiss growing sloppy and wet in the best way. She feels a corresponding rush of liquid between her legs and wonders briefly if she should tell him to stop. It’s at that very moment though, that she feels his right hand slip below the waistband of her cotton pajama pants and she knows the time for stopping has long since passed.  She makes a helpless sound as she gives herself over to the moment.

 

The quiet sounds she’s making have him scooting back on the lounger as far as he can and tugging her up onto his lap until her legs are draped on either side of his, dangling over the outside edges of the low-slung chair.  His mouth is on her neck. She tastes like heaven, and he can feel her pulse pounding just beneath her skin. He wants her so badly, but he pauses there, with his fingers just grazing the elastic band of her panties, waiting.  He drags his restless digits back and forth along the fabric, his mouth never leaving the soft skin of her neck. His message is clear, he thinks, she’s in the driver’s seat here. He’ll let her guide them safely into neutral or right over the goddamn cliff like they’re Thelma and fucking Louise--he’ll follow her anywhere she leads.  

 

When he feels her thighs relax, he smiles against her skin and widens the space between his knees, parting her legs just a fraction more, and letting his hand slip down to cup her over the thin cotton of her underwear.

 

He hears the breath puff out of her, and he places wet, open mouthed kisses everywhere he can reach along the column of her throat as he presses his palm more firmly against her mound and rubs with slow, deliberate pressure.  He keeps his movements steady and rhythmic until he can feel the tremble in her breathing, the answering tilt of her pelvis. Then he slips the fingers of his left hand into the soft hair at the base of her skull and fists the silky locks gently, using his grip to direct her mouth back to his.  The fingers of his other hand slip inside her panties at the same time his mouth closes over hers, and when he strokes her tongue and her sensitive nub at the same time, he swallows the delicious sound she makes whole. It feels good going down, that sound, and he presses his hard length against her to make sure she knows that he’s sharing in her pleasure.

 

He slips downward, pressing the pad of his middle finger against the smooth, slick skin that lies directly between the two places she wants him to touch her most, and he strokes her there over and over, just high enough to graze the underside of that little bundle of nerves that causes her to jerk in response and just low enough to tease her opening, which has her swiveling her hips wantonly and angling for penetration.  He stays there for torturous minutes until she’s swollen and dripping, not venturing from that spot until she’s opened her thighs as widely as she can in a silent plea to get him inside of her. Only then does he widen the space between his own knees again, spreading her thighs just a fraction more than she can do on her own, and sink two long, fingers inside of her, curling them forward against her inner wall. He knows that tight bundle of nerves is trapped somewhere between the heel of his hand and the pads of his strong fingers where they press firmly against the inside of her, and he leans forward slightly, and begins to stroke her in earnest, putting his back into it, intent on making her come harder than she ever has in her life.

 

It doesn’t take long before her inner thighs start to twitch and tremble against the outside of his.  “I got you,” he whispers, as she pulls her mouth away from his to drag in air and whimper into the stubbled skin of his jaw.  She clings to his muscular forearm as it moves rhythmically between her legs. “I got you, T,” he repeats, working her body firmly between his curled fingers and the heel of his hand.  Suddenly, he feels her clamp down hard around him, feels her shake and fill his palm with her body’s natural response to the intense orgasm he’s just pulled from her. He smiles a satisfied smile against her open mouth, relishing the shuddering, wrecked sounds landing quietly against his lips.  There’s no faking that. It was good, and he knows it. As good as he’d wanted it to be for her.

 

She deserves it, and he wants to spend every day for the rest of his life making her feel just like this.  He kisses the highest point on her cheekbone, just below her eye, and lets his fingers slip slowly out of her, his hand coming to rest on her hip, squeezing affectionately with damp fingers.

 

Slowly, she comes back to herself.  She feels his fingers, sticky against her skin, and she stares straight into his eyes, knowing her pupils must be blown as wide as his, and unable to look away from the beautiful phenomenon.  He smiles at her, and it’s a full ten seconds before she realizes he’s merely returning the dopey, sex-drunk smile she’s directing at him. She wants to roll her eyes at herself but she can’t because she’s never felt this good under any man’s hands before, not even his, and she’s overwhelmed by the need to make him understand what she’s just experienced.  Words are not sufficient, though, and she finds herself turning in his arms until she’s facing him, intent on _showing_ him.

 

She tugs his hand from inside her pajama pants and moves until she’s fully upright, straddling his lap.  His legs are still slightly parted, so her butt rests against the lounger, the backs of her thighs resting on top of his, her knees bent, allowing her feet to dangle just above the sand on either side of his hips.

 

Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes shine with desire and satisfaction.  She removes him carefully from his pajama pants and admires what she can make out in the soft glow of the moonlight.  She smiles at the sound of his breath catching in his throat and wraps her palm around him. She gives him a squeeze, leaning forward and kissing his mouth full-on, deep and wet, feeling him throb in her hand.  Then pulling back from the kiss, she tilts her head down, gazing up at him through her thick lashes as she allows a long line of saliva to drip directly from her mouth onto him, where he now stands erect and straining in her hand.  

 

He feels light headed as every bit of blood not designated to essential, life-supporting duty shoots straight to his dick.  She flexes her fingers around his girth and the squelching sound her saliva makes under her palm nearly has him coming in her hand right then.  “Fuck,” he whispers, harshly, and squeezes his eyes shut, taking a deep, shuddering breath, willing himself back under control. She doesn’t give him any time to rally though, merely whispers his name as she leans forward and starts stroking him with long, sure strokes.  He makes a choked noise in the back of his throat when she strokes upward and swirls her thumb over the tip of him, catching the drop of pearly liquid she conjures from his body and bringing it to her lips, experimentally. He lunges forward then, kissing her desperately, with reckless abandon, until neither of them can breathe and they are forced to pull away, gasping.  

 

She presses her forehead to his, and her free hand clamps possessively around the back of his neck, holding him there against her, keeping their faces so close that he’s actually panting into her open mouth as she works her hand up and down his length.  This is the first time she’s done this with him, and she’s overwhelmed by how emotional it feels. It’s sexy as fuck, obviously, but surprisingly intense, too. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glassy, and she thinks with a start that she _definitely_ might still be in love with him.  

 

She knows her eyes are wide and clear and full of desire for him, and for once, she doesn’t try to hide whatever other emotions might be showing through as she lets herself gaze directly into his eyes.  His lashes flutter, beautifically, but he doesn’t look away even as the veins in his neck and forehead stand up in stark relief against his skin and he thrusts his hips against her fist, and when she whispers, “Come for me, babe.”

 

He does.  Immediately and spectacularly.

 

He grunts, and he can’t help the way he grips her hips and bucks up into her hand.  He feels the long ropy, strands erupt from deep inside him and land hot and sticky on his abdomen, and he thinks he’s an idiot for ever at any point in his life thinking _The One_ could have been anyone other than Tess.

 

It’s Tess, it was _always_ Tess, and it will always _be_ Tess.

 


	26. TWENTY-SIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to Peacefulboo for keeping me in the present (or whatever) tense. :D
> 
> You my ride, 'boo. (<\--subtle The Killing reference; if you guys haven't seen it, I highly recommend it!)

 

 

 

 

 

++++

 

Tessa wakes for the second morning in a row with a smile on her face.  Only this morning it’s not because she’s been awakened by sweet, early morning whispers,  _ this _ morning it’s because she’s drifted slowly awake to the steady sound of Scott’s heartbeat beneath her ear.  In years past, when they were just kids sneaking into each other’s rooms and falling asleep curled up in each other’s arms, she’d taken that privilege for granted, but it’s something that hasn’t happened in a long time, and today she has the wherewithal to savor the moment.  She turns, burying her wide smile against the heat of his bare skin, pressing her nose against his chest and inhaling deeply, taking in the warm, delicious smell of him.

 

Slowly, she replays the events of the night before in her head, reliving those stolen moments with Scott down by the shore, the way he’d kissed her and touched her with such tenderness.  When she feels her toes begin to tingle and her belly grow warm, she resolutely sets those memories aside and lets her mind move on to what happened in the aftermath of their passionate encounter.  She remembers walking back to the cottage on unsteady legs, the weight of his arm around her shoulders, familiar and reassuring. She remembers stopping him on the dark front porch and asking him if he would go get Annika from Jordan.  She’d been positive her sister would take one look at her flushed skin and overly bright eyes and know exactly what she’d been doing, what they’d been doing. 

 

Jordan can read Scott, too, but not quite as easily as she can read Tessa, and Tessa isn’t ready to share this newest development quite yet.

 

At her request, Scott had nodded his head and smiled down at her, knowingly.  Then, he’d gone to get their daughter from her aunt, but not before pulling Tessa close and placing one more bone-melting kiss on her lips.  By the time he’d returned to their room with a sleeping toddler in his arms, Tessa had already settled comfortably in the big, king-sized bed.  

 

He’d gone about putting Annika to bed then, but he’d surprised her, and instead of placing their daughter between them as she’d expected him to, he’d used his free hand to erect an impressive wall of pillows on the far side of the bed and then placed Annika right next to it, safely inside the makeshift boundary.  Tessa had remained silent, only eyeing him questioningly, as he moved about the room, watching as he placed one final pillow on the floor beside the bed. “Just in case,” he’d assured her, before coming back around to her side and climbing in behind her. He’d nudged her gently toward the middle of the bed, until she was right next to Anna, and then wrapped his arm around her and laid his head upon her pillow.  He hadn’t addressed the change at all, he’d simply pulled her against him and settled back against the sheets, a contented smile on his lips.

 

She can’t remember the last time she slept so soundly.

 

That being said, it had taken her awhile to actually  _ fall _ asleep.  Scott of course, had drifted off almost as soon as he’d tucked his long, lean body against hers.  She’d lain there in the dark though, wrapped in his arms, her body still singing happily from their little rendezvous on the beach, sorting through everything she was feeling.  

 

The realization that she might still be in love with him had hit her hard.  She’s always known she loves him. Deep down, even when she thought she hated him, she’d known she really loved him, known that she would probably always love him, and she’d realized awhile ago that she wants a life with him, if she could just manage to get out of her own way long enough to let it happen.  The realization, though, that she might have  _ already _ fallen back in love with him, despite all of her careful planning and caution regarding their relationship, had thrown her for a loop.  She wasn’t quite ready to be in love with him again, not yet. She wasn’t prepared for it.

 

She was anxious and worried.  She was  _ scared _ .

 

Scott scares the hell out of her.  No one in her life has ever scared her the way he does, in fact.  But no one has ever even come close to making her feel as safe and loved as he does either.  And there’s the rub. She loves him, always has, but she’s terrified of falling in love with him, terrified to  _ be _ in love with him again, to let herself be vulnerable to him in that way.

 

Lying there in his arms though, it’d been impossible to deny the truth, and slowly, painstakingly, she had finally managed to sort through it all in her mind.  At last, she could admit to herself that, ready or not, she was  _ already _ in love with him.

 

It was only then that her mind had finally allowed her body to rest, and she had slipped into a peaceful sleep, but she’d awakened today with a single thought still repeating in her head.  

 

_ I’m in love with Scott.   _

 

It’s both freeing and its own form of terrifying.

 

Her love for him is very clear to her all of a sudden, despite the fact that she has no idea what it means for them.  She’s relatively certain that he’s in love with her, too. She knows, at least, that he loves her in some capacity, and she knows that he’s obviously still attracted to her, but what does that mean right now?  They go back home and what? Living with him is supposed to be temporary. She’s supposed to be moving out eventually, which was her decree, not his, so how should she go about bringing up a sudden change of heart?  And what if he’s changed his mind? What if living with her and Annika has proved too much for him, and he’s just been counting down the days until she finds her own place and he can return to bachelor-dom?

 

_ I’m not ready for this _ , she hears him say, an echo from three years ago that still sends an ache straight through her barely-healed heart.

 

_ Stop it _ , she tells herself, talking herself down from the ledge.   _ It’s not the same, and you know it.  He’s not the same.  _ He’s so different now, so settled, and he’s more than proven himself as a father and as...whatever he’s always been to her.  

 

She checks to make sure that Anna’s still fast asleep beside them.  She is, tucked up close to Tessa’s back, her face turned away from them and her tiny bottom sticking up in the air.  Tessa tucks the comforter up around the sleeping girl’s shoulders and then turns back to Scott. She tilts her head against his chest, resting her chin against his skin and moving to press her lips against the underside of his strong jaw.  His stubble scrapes against her lips and she can’t resist slipping her palms along his cheeks and up into his hair. She’s missed him. She’d barely known him like this before everything had gone horribly wrong, but God, she’s missed him. She shifts against him, scooting up until her lips can find his.  She presses them against his, firm and insistent, and she feels his mouth morph into a sleepy smile even before he’s fully conscious. 

 

“Hey,” he rasps, against her mouth.

 

“Hey,” she whispers back, pulling away to look into his eyes and check to make sure that this is, in fact, okay.

 

His eyes are cracked open against the early morning light, straining against the sudden intrusion on his retinas.  She sees only happiness and acceptance in his hazel depths, and, unable to resist, she leans forward and presses her lips to his once more.  She feels his hand slip low on her back, burrowing its way beneath her t-shirt until it comes into contact with her bare skin and stills in the dip of her spine, resting just above her tailbone.  She stretches like a cat, arching into his touch, and she feels him sigh, contentedly, beneath her. She pulls back again, watching him, wanting to remember this moment and how happy she feels, how certain.

 

He looks handsome in the morning sun, its soft, orange rays catching on his lashes and making them look long and golden in the light.  It’s strange, she thinks, because she knows his face so well, probably better than her own, and yet she can’t imagine ever getting tired of looking at him, especially when he looks like this, when he looks happy, when he looks like he loves her just as much as she loves him.

 

_ I love you _ , she thinks.   _ I’m so in love with you. _

 

The words are there, just on the tip of her tongue, but something keeps her from voicing them.  This isn’t the moment. It’s not quite time. She doesn’t know how she knows, but she does, so she holds onto her little secret for just a bit longer.  

 

She smiles to herself, thinking, and he gives her an amused, questioning grin in response.  “What?” he asks, chuckling softly, and she can feel the movement of his chest beneath her ribs; it sends contentment flooding through her body until she can feel its warmth from her scalp to the soles of her feet.

 

“Nothing,” she says softly, still smiling.  She scoots back down and lays her head against his chest, pressing her ear against his skin until she can hear his heartbeat once again.  

 

She has an idea, one that’s been forming in the back of her mind for awhile now.  She may not be quite ready to voice her feelings, but there’s something she wants to do today that just might show him without the words.

 

++++

 

“Hey Scott?” she calls, poking her head around the back of her SUV, searching for him and finding him stowing their belongings into the RDX’s cargo space.  “There you are,” she says, smiling at him. “Listen, Jordan wants to take me to lunch and spend some sister time in the city before she has to head back home.”  She slides into the small space created by the open cargo door and Scott’s body and stands facing him, her butt propped against the bumper. “Do you mind driving back on your own?” she asks, hopefully.  “You can take my car, and Jo will just bring me home later tonight?” she adds. 

 

“Uh, sure,” he adds, sounding surprised.  

 

“I know it’s last minute,” she commiserates.  “And I was looking forward to the drive back with you, but if you don’t mind I’d really like to go.  And I’ll take Annika with me,” she offers, trying to make things slightly easier on him. At his disappointed look she asks, “I mean, unless you want to take her with you?”  She knows Scott is Annika’s Dad but she still has to fight against feeling like he’s doing her a favor by watching their child. It’s not babysitting, she reminds herself, if it’s your own child.  She knows he loves his alone time with Annika, also, and she wants him to know that she trusts him, completely, with their baby. “Whichever way works best for you,” she says. “I don’t know if you have anything planned for the rest of the day after we get back or…” she trails off, waiting expectantly to see what he’ll say.

 

She feels slightly guilty because she’s not actually going to spend time with Jordan at all, but it’s a little white lie for a good cause.  She’s asked Jordan to cover for her because, in actuality, there’s something she needs to take care of in the city, something she doesn’t want Scott to be privy to just yet.  

 

“I don’t have any plans,” he says, turning and sitting next to her, hip to hip.  “I just figured we’d have a quiet night in after all of the crazy of the past week with the interview and everyone being sick and then being out of town.  It’ll be nice to get home and spend some quiet time with just us,” he muses, reaching forward and brushing a lock of long, chestnut colored hair away from her brow.

 

She suddenly wants nothing more than to get in the SUV with Scott and drive back to their little house in Ilderton and tuck their baby in for the night and curl up on the couch with him and...she sighs, resignedly.  “That sounds amazing, but--” she starts, but he cuts her off mid-sentence.

 

“Tomorrow,” he promises.  “Today, you go spend some time with your sister.  I’ll take Toepick and stop by Mom and Dad’s on the way home.  They’ll be thrilled,” he says. “All three of them,” he adds, smiling.

 

She relaxes against his side, grateful for his unwavering support.  She looks up at him through a veil of lashes. She’s sure her feelings are probably written all over her face, and yet she can’t quite bring herself to dial it back a notch.  She just can’t believe she’s been so lucky to be blessed with him in this life. “Thank you,” she near-whispers, her voice suddenly failing her.

 

“You deserve some downtime, T,” he encourages, quietly, bumping her shoulder playfully with his own before slipping his palm along her back, up between her shoulder blades, bringing it to rest along the back of her neck.  “Take it,” he says, his fingers resting lightly against her nape while his thumb strokes softly into the hollow behind her right ear. “Go hang out with Jordan for a few hours. Take some time for yourself. You know Anna and I will be waiting for you when you get home.”  

 

She pictures them asleep on the couch.  Scott in his pajama pants, his big feet covered in worn, comfy socks, and his chest bare.  Anna curled against him, dressed in Tessa’s favorite pair of footed jammies--the ones that make her look like a chubby little bumble bee.  In her mind, their faces are relaxed, mouths hanging open slightly in slumber, and Tessa’s heart squeezes in her chest at the emotion the image evokes.

 

“Promise?” she asks, her voice little more than a rasp.  It’s so scary how much she suddenly wants to come home to that every night for the rest of her life.  She looks into his eyes, and the moment stretches, morphing into more than it was just a second ago. The shape of it becomes thin and encompassing until it forms a sort of bubble with only the two of them inside it.

 

“I promise,” he says, softly, and there is conviction in his voice, as if he recognizes the change in her, the sudden gravity of the moment.  His thumb moves in soft, lazy circles against her skin, and he leans forward, pressing his forehead against hers.

 

The sound of a clearing throat has them both whipping their heads around, startled.  

 

Jordan stands there, looking like the cat that ate the canary, Annika balanced easily on one hip.  “Mom’s locking up unless you guys need anything else from inside,” she says, sweetly, though her tone very clearly says,  _ Scott and Tessa sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g _ .  

 

“We’re all good I think, yeah?” Tessa asks, turning to Scott for verification.

 

“We’re good,” he replies, and she reads in his tone that  _ they _ are good, too.

 

“You coming with me, Sam?” Jordan asks, her attention focused on Tessa.

 

Tessa nods, reaching out for Annika.  “I am,” she says. “But this little lady is going to spend the rest of the day with Daddy.”  

 

Annika moves easily into Tessa’s arms, but then makes a last minute lunge for Scott once Tessa’s words register with her.  “Me go wis’ Daddy!” she says, happily, wrapping her arms around his neck and placing a sloppy kiss against the corner of his mouth as he catches her easily and hugs her small, wriggling body to his chest.

 

“Great!” Jordan says, and points at Scott.  “You’re a good man, Charlie Brown.”

 

Scott gives her an easy grin and stands up, offering Tessa a hand as she rises from the bumper of the SUV, too.  “I’ll see you tonight then?” she asks Scott, brushing absently at the seat of her pants as she leans forward and presses her lips to Annika’s cheek, whispering, “Love you, baby.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says.  “We’ll see you tonight.”  He waits for her to look up from Annika and meet his eyes before he steps forward and presses a light kiss against her lips.  It catches her off guard, mainly because Jordan is standing  _ right there _ .  It’s quick and chaste, but it’s nice, and it feels like a promise of things to come.  “Be safe,” he says as he backs away from her. His eyes flick to Jordan. “Easy, Speed Racer,” he teases, pointing in her direction as she’d pointed in his moments before.  “The four-oh-one is not The Autobahn.”

 

For once Jordan is left speechless, no comeback readily available, Scott’s casual kiss to her sister’s lips having left her momentarily shocked into contemplative silence.  Tessa can’t help the sharp peal of unrestrained laughter that erupts from her as she turns away, slinging an arm around Jordan and steering her toward her car. 

 

++++

 

Scott glances in the rearview mirror and watches as Annika’s head bobs lazily to one side before dropping forward onto her chest.  His neck twinges a little just looking at the way she’s managed to fall asleep, hanging forward awkwardly against the restraint straps of her carseat.  He smiles to himself and turns up the radio just a bit to block out the road noise so she can rest a bit more comfortably. There’s an old song by The Hip playing, and he hums along, taking comfort in the familiar chord progression.

 

He glances at the empty passenger seat and admits to himself that he’s a little bummed that Tessa isn’t riding shotgun.  He hadn’t been blowing smoke when he’d said she deserves some time to herself, though. He knows that she works hard at her job and that she’s also been a full-time mom to their baby girl for the past two-and-a-half years.  That being said, it doesn’t mean he wouldn’t rather be spending the evening with her than having her be off somewhere with her sister. He’d really been looking forward to tonight, to curling up at home with just Annika and Tess and shutting the rest of the world away.  These last few days with her family have been fun, but he’s ready to be home. He’s ready to build on what they shared this weekend. 

 

Last night was a huge turning point for them, he can feel it, and not because they connected physically, though that had been amazing, but because Tessa hadn’t pulled away in the aftermath.  He’d fully expected her to be gone this morning--in the kitchen, surrounded by a protective bubble of Virtues, or outside with the girls at the crack of dawn, anything to avoid addressing what had happened between them last night.  She’d shocked the hell out of him by not only sleeping in his arms all night long, but by kissing him awake this morning and then settling right back down against his chest like there was no place in the world she’d rather be.

 

It gives him hope for their future.

 

As he turns onto Ilderton Road and heads toward town, he can’t help the smile that spreads across his face when he passes the familiar sign that says, “Welcome to Ilderton, Home of Scott Moir and Tessa Virtue”.

 

++++

 

Tessa shifts in her seat and glances around at the tasteful dark leather and teak wood furnishings.  She counts the books stacked on the shiny end table for the third time and then checks her phone again, just for something to do.  The downfall of being on the go for practically your entire life is that the act of waiting becomes an excruciating task. She tucks her cellphone back into her purse when she hears the secretary’s desk phone ring, its muted tone signaling an internal call.

 

Last time she was at this office was shortly after Annika was born.  She’d been updating her will. It sounds grim, but she’d realized that if something happened to her, her daughter was depending on her to be a responsible parent and make arrangements so that she’d be taken care of.  In the draft of her will drawn up on that day, sole custody of Annika would have gone to Kate had something happened to Tessa, and all of Tessa’s assets would have gone into trust for her daughter. Her mother would have had access to that trust to provide for Anna, but the bulk of it would have been signed over to Annika once she finished college or turned twenty-five, whichever came first.  

 

Scott’s name was on Annika’s birth certificate from the start, so had he somehow been made aware of her existence and decided to contest the will he probably could have gotten sole custody of their daughter, but Tessa had had no inkling at the time that Scott would  _ want _ any form of custody.  She knows differently now, though, and so today, Tessa is going to amend her will, acknowledging him as Annika’s father and giving him full control of their daughter’s trust, should something happen to her.  She has set aside some small inheritances for her siblings--they sacrificed growing up so that she could achieve what she has with Scott, and she feels like it’s the very least she can do, if something were to happen to her.  Kate wants nothing--Tessa had discussed it with her when she set up the original will and trust--so, Tessa has honored her wishes and instead her entire estate will go to Annika, minus the small portion set aside for her siblings.  She trusts Scott, completely, to manage Annika’s trust, should something happen to her, and more importantly, to raise Annika and love her. She needs him to know that, and she hopes that he will see this gesture for what it is.

 

“Mr. Sokolov will see you now,” the petite red-haired office manager at Sokolov & Dutton calls, alerting Tessa to the fact that her solicitor is ready to see her.  She rises and follows the woman into the large office directly behind the reception area.

 

“Ms. McCormick!” Vincent Sokolov, her personal and business solicitor, beams, reaching out and shaking her hand in welcome.  

 

“Just Tessa, please,” she reminds the older gentleman, kindly.

 

“Tessa,” he amends, squeezing her fingers gently in a show of acknowledgement.  “So good to see you! What can I do for you today? Marion tells me you’d like to update your will?” he asks, gesturing to the open chair on the opposite side of his large, wooden desk. 

 

“I would,” she confirms, taking a seat across from him.  “I want to update my current will with regard to the trust we set up for my daughter,” she explains.  

 

“I see,” he replies, nodding and flipping open the manila folder lying on the desk in front of him.  After a moment, he looks up at her and asks, “So, do you want to change the age at which your daughter will receive her trust or is it that you need to change the person who will be in charge of your daughter’s trust?”

 

“My mother will no longer be the one to control the trust,” Tessa says, nodding.

 

“Okay,” he replies, picking up a pen and jotting down a quick note on a post-it before placing it into the folder and looking up at her again.  “And who would you like to designate in her place.”

 

“Scott Moir,” Tessa says, trying not to flinch under her solicitor’s careful scrutiny. 

 

“You have him in here already, don’t you?” he asks, flipping forward several pages in the folder.  He writes another note on another post-it and places it on the page he’s currently perusing. “Yes, here he is,” he says, answering his own question.  “In the event of your death he’s to receive your Olympic medals.” He looks up at her then, over the top of his glasses. “This is your former skating partner, is it not?” he asks.  

 

She nods before taking a deep breath and saying, “He’s also Annika’s father.”

 

“I see,” he says, scribbling another note onto yet another post-it.  “I presume that means you would want him to have full custody of the child should something happen to you then?”  At her affirmative nod he asks, “Is he named as the father on her birth certificate?” 

 

“Yes, he is,” she says, thankful that she hadn’t made any rash decisions in regard to that, despite her hurt at the time of Annika’s birth.

 

“Well, it’s just a simple matter of having Marion draw up a new draft with the name change, then, and having you sign it,” he states, matter of factly.  “We can notarize it right here in the office before you go, if you like.” 

 

He’s nothing if not professional, she’ll give the older man that.  Either he never gave her relationship with Scott a second thought or he’d seen their recent interview on CBC and already knew the truth about Annika’s paternity.  Either way, he hadn’t reacted at all when she’d shared that last bit of information. “I was hoping you could do one more thing for me while I’m here,” she says, hopefully.

 

“Of course, any way I can be of service, Tessa, you know that.  What else can I help you with?” he asks, kindly.

 

“You know that Annika was born in the United States?” she reminds him.

 

“Yes, now that you mention it, I do remember that,” he says, waiting patiently for her to go on.

 

“I know this probably isn’t your area of expertise, but it’s a little complicated because she was born out of the country,” she says, pausing before continuing, resolutely.  “I need help navigating the process of having Annika’s last name legally changed.”

 

The old man’s expression softens, and he smiles.  “To Moir?” he asks, knowingly.

 

She can’t help but return his friendly expression as she nods.  “To Moir, yes,” she confirms. “Annika Jordan Alma Virtue- _ Moir _ .  It’s a mouthful, but I think she’ll more than live up to it,” Tessa says, her smile expanding with maternal pride.

 

++++

 

A stiff autumn breeze propels Tessa through the front door when she arrives back home.  It follows her inside, bringing with it the crisp smell of fall and several dried leaves in varying shades of red, gold, and orange.  “Scott?” she calls as she pushes the door closed against the protesting wind. “Scott, I’m home.” She kicks off her shoes and makes her way into the living room and past the kitchen, calling softly from room to room.  When she doesn’t immediately get an answer downstairs, she heads upstairs in search of father and daughter. She finds the latter fast asleep in her bed, the baby monitor blinking steadily on the nightstand alerting Tessa to the fact that somewhere nearby the former is keeping watch.

 

She changes out of her dress clothes and into a pair of yoga pants and an over-sized, threadbare sweatshirt and goes in search of Scott.

 

She finally finds him on the back porch, sitting on the steps, head bowed.  “Hey, what’re you doing out here?” she asks, and when he lifts his head and turns to look at her she knows immediately that something is very wrong.  His eyes are rimmed with red, and though he isn’t crying, she can tell that he has been. She moves to his side on wooden legs, terrified that something has happened to one of his parents.  From the look on his face, she’d be worried about Annika if she hadn’t just seen her sleeping peacefully upstairs.

 

“Scott, what’s wrong?” she asks, moving the mobile portion of the baby monitor that’s sitting next to him to one side and sinking down beside him on the top step.  She runs her hand along his back in a gesture of comfort. She hasn’t seen him like this in a long time, if ever. “What’s happened?” 

 

He scrubs at his face and takes a deep breath before finally turning to face her.  His eyes are glassy and full of grief, and her heart gives a painful twist in response.  “It’s Trevor,” he says, and his voice sounds raw, shaky. “He was in an accident, T. He’s gone.”

 

++++

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
